


Two Houses

by Keep_Calm_And_Expecto_Patronum



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Occlumency, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Public Hand Jobs, Puns & Word Play, References to Shakespeare, Romantic Comedy, Shakespeare Quotations, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2020-05-15 14:38:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 142,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19297771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keep_Calm_And_Expecto_Patronum/pseuds/Keep_Calm_And_Expecto_Patronum
Summary: Two houses, both alike in dignity, in fair Hogwarts where we lay our scene. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes, a pair of star-crossed lovers emerge…Harry and Draco have returned to Hogwarts to complete their final year of education, and both are unhappy to see the other. But when they are cast in the starring roles in the school production of Romeo and Juliet, they begin to see each other in a new light.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a love letter to my two greatest literary passions: Harry Potter and Shakespeare. I can only hope that I do them both justice. 
> 
> Tags will be updated as I add more chapters. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> A huge thank you to [ OllieMaye ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OllieMaye/pseuds/OllieMaye), [ BrandonStrayne ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrandonStrayne/pseuds/BrandonStrayne) and [ Drarryismymuse (Hatchersn) ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hatchersn) for always being there to help me with SPaG and brainstorming sessions!

 

The heavy red velvet curtains hissed as they dragged across the floor to reveal a darkened stage. With a loud click, a spotlight burst into life, illuminating the ominously empty stage. A long, awkward silence followed and the audience seemed to hold its collective breath, waiting for any indication of life. All eyes flitted to the right of the stage at the sound of nervous footsteps approaching; the shuffling grew louder with each step and soon a young man, no older than fifteen, came into view. He stepped into the intense spotlight, recoiling slightly at the blinding light, blinking desperately although he could see nothing. He was so frail in appearance that he looked as though a strong gust of wind would blow him away. His mousy brown hair was plastered flat against his head, whether from overheating thanks to the heavy leather breeches he wore, or fear, or a combination of the two. He quickly swiped the back of his hand over his pale brow, blinking rapidly as the sweat stung his eyes. His breaths were coming out in short, nervous pants, audible to the first few rows of the expectant audience. He wrung his hands together, staring out into the blackness, struggling to find the words as the silence seemed to stretch out for all eternity.

After an awkward few moments, he slipped a shaking hand into his doublet pocket and closed his eyes, taking a steadying breath, and the tension appeared to ease in his shoulders. When his eyes slid open again, he had stopped shaking, and when he finally spoke—to the surprise of everyone there, including the young man—his voice rang loud and clear...

“Two households, both alike in dignity,” he began, his voice carrying across the large audience as though someone had applied a Sonorus Charm to it. “In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, from ancient grudge break to new mutiny, where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.”

Everyone listened intently as the boy spoke and the lighting on the stage began to change, the left side illuminated in pale green light, the right in a soft red hue. The boy walked slowly across the front of the stage and the spotlight followed him.

“From forth the fatal loins of these two foes, a pair of star-crossed lovers take their life,” he declared, his voice growing in strength with each word that he spoke. “Whose misadventured piteous overthrows doth with their _death_ bury their parents’ strife.”

The boy stopped dead in his tracks and glared down at two people sitting in the front row, anonymous and unseen by the rest of the audience. He allowed the silence to stretch out to dramatic effect before turning away and continuing his introduction to the play.

“The fearful passage of their death-marked love and the continuance of their parents’ rage—which, but their children’s end—nought could remove, is now the two hours’ traffic of our stage.” He turned dramatically towards the audience again before sinking into a low bow. “The which, if you with patient ears attend, what here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.”

The young boy vanished from view as the spotlight fell and the audience erupted into uproarious applause, hundreds of eyes struggling to follow the dark outline of his shadow as he strode across the dimmed stage and out of sight, which was still glowing an ominous emerald green and ruby red.


	2. Chapter 2

_July 31st 1998_

In the two months since the Battle of Hogwarts and the end of the Second Wizarding War, Minerva McGonagall had been run ragged. Determined to have the school repaired and ready for the new influx of students come September first, she had divided her time between coordinating large portions of the castle being rebuilt, writing condolence letters to the families of students and staff members who had perished in the battle, as well as sending out acceptance letters to the new wave of students for the upcoming year. Her task was made doubly difficult considering the high volume of Muggleborn students who hadn’t received their letters the previous year, and a large number of students who, understandably, sought to repeat their seventh and final year.

 _Hogwarts is going to be rather cramped this year_ , she thought ruefully.

She also had to contend with finding replacements for several of the teaching staff who had died, been jailed, or had quit. Her first year as Headmistress hadn’t even officially begun and already she had developed a permanent headache.

Although the volume of work seemed insurmountable, Minerva was determined to fulfil her duty as Headmistress and get everything ready on time. She had little time for distractions, but she could not help but be distracted by the most recent article posted in The Daily Prophet. She bristled as she read the article for the third time:

 

_In a controversial move that critics say echoes the latter days of Cornelius Fudge’s tenure, Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt has sought to implement sweeping Educational Reforms at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

_The Ministry has faced harsh criticism for keeping certain elements of the previous administration’s reforms in place as well as making controversial appointments at the school, in a move that some argue undermines the authority of the headmistress, Professor Minerva McGonagall._

_As many of our readers well know, Muggle Studies was made a compulsory subject during the Dark Lord’s regime in an effort to indoctrinate children by exposing them to grossly inaccurate and hate-filled materials about Muggles. Minister Shacklebolt, however, has defended the decision to keep it as a core subject alongside Charms, Potions, History of Magic, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Astronomy and Herbology._

_“It is an important subject for students to learn,” he argued at a recent press conference. “Now more than ever. Many children from Wizarding families have no experience of the Muggle world and my administration aims to address that.”_

_The Minister vehemently denied comparisons to the reforms introduced by his predecessor, Cornelius Fudge, who appointed then-Head of the Improper Use of Magic Office, Dolores Umbridge (formerly Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic, latterly Head of the Muggle-Born Registration Commission, now convicted felon and imprisoned at Azkaban Fortress. For a more detailed profile, see page 19), to the position of High Inquisitor and passed sweeping legislation giving itself an unprecedented level of control at the renowned educational institution._

_Minister Shacklebolt has denied accusations that the Ministry is overreaching its authority, dismissing claims that Educational Decree Number Twenty-Two had been reinstated._

_“The conduct of previous administrations are hardly comparable to my tenure and I take offence at such,” argued Shacklebolt. “The Ministry wields no such power or influence at Hogwarts and it would be inappropriate to do so. Headmistress McGonagall and I are both in agreement that it would be immeasurably beneficial if Muggle Studies remained part of the core curriculum at Hogwarts. That decision was ultimately hers to make and I support her fully.”_

_It is perhaps worth noting that when the Daily Prophet reached out to Headmistress McGonagall for comment, she refused to speak to our reporters. Perhaps this is a sign that there is already tension between the new headmistress and the recently-appointed Minister for Magic?_

“More the case that I didn’t want to give you buggers the time of day,” she muttered darkly to herself.

She had had enough trouble in the past with The Daily Prophet to last her nine lifetimes. She thought back to the articles that they had written about Potter, lauding him with praise one day and deriding him the next, whichever best suited them at that moment in time. She felt white hot anger swell inside of her at the memory. It was one thing to criticise Albus; he was a grown man and could handle the criticism, but to target a child...she’d never forgive them for their treatment of the boy.

Her eyes fell on a smaller article above the main headline: ‘Harry Potter Returns to Hogwarts!’

Minerva couldn't deny that she was pleased that he would be returning for his seventh and final year of education. She peered closely at the photo of him: it looked as though it had been taken at one of the many Ministry hearings that were taking place that summer. Potter was looking decidedly more dishevelled than usual: his mop of black hair was messier than ever, his round glasses doing little to hide the dark shadows under his eyes. He still looked as though he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. Minerva supposed, until recently, he had.

She rather hoped that this year, finally, would be one free of worry, woe, and drama for the young man. Although, this is Harry Potter, she thought wryly. Trouble follows that boy everywhere. She could only hope that whatever drama inevitably darkened his doorstep this year wasn’t anything too dangerous this time.

Minerva had kept a close eye on Potter’s activities over the summer. She had been sorry to hear (through the blasted Prophet, no less) that he and Miss Weasley had parted ways over the summer, although she didn't put much stock in the rumours that the pretty redhead had fallen into the arms of another man. She thought back to the ridiculous stories the Prophet had publicised suggesting Potter and Miss Granger were an item, the reporters wildly off the mark as usual. Minerva would have laughed at the suggestion had it not been so serious; Miss Granger had been hospitalised after an overzealous ‘fan’ of Mr Potter’s had sent Miss Granger bubotuber pus in the owl post. No, Minerva had no time or patience for reporters, especially ones from the Daily Prophet.

When the reporters had owled her for comment on the article that they were writing, she had let her anger get the better of her and had ignored them.

After reading the published article though, and seeing how they had even managed to twist her silence into a thinly-veiled and unfounded criticism of Kingsley, she realised that perhaps that had been short-sighted of her. She would write to Kingsley later in the evening to discuss the article and reaffirm her support of him. Pushing her glasses which had slid to the end of her long nose up, she continued to read:

_While Minister Shacklebolt attempts to brush off the changes in the curriculum as of little note or interest to the public, it has come to the attention of The Daily Prophet that more insidious forces are at work than the Ministry would have us believe. While Minister Shacklebolt continues to project an image of unity and strength in the aftermath of the Second War, Ministry officials—some who wish to remain anonymous—have argued that things are not going as well as the Minister and his administration would have us believe._

_“There are growing concerns within the current administration that the fall of the Dark Lord’s regime has left a power vacuum that is ripe for smaller, but no less dangerous, extremist groups to emerge from,” said Elphias Doge, Special Advisor to the Wizengamot. “One particular area of concern is Hogwarts. The students at the school were at the mercy of the Death Eaters for a year. The children were brainwashed for_ months _; it was drilled into them that Muggles were inferior, less than human. Merlin knows the damage that was done.”_

_And the subject that was the regime’s primary interest?_

_“Muggle Studies was viewed as an important subject to ‘re-educate’ the children into the Death Eaters’ way of thinking, although the entire curriculum was altered to reflect pureblood ideologies and priorities,” said one high-ranking official who wished to remain anonymous. “The textbooks were rewritten, especially in history and biology, to promote the Dark Lord’s 'greatness', pureblood 'supremacy' and anti-Muggle propaganda. Children’s minds are impressionable and they are easily susceptible to manipulation, particularly from authority figures. There is a real concern that a number of the students may have adopted this extremist ideology. The question is how to tackle the problem head-on; re-education of the student body seems the most sensible course of action.”_

_So it would appear that the Ministry’s motives for keeping Muggle Studies as a core subject and the as-yet-unknown changes in teaching materials may be an effort to ‘de-program’ at-risk students with extremist ideologies and behaviour. When challenged on these claims, the Ministry have been reluctant to respond, and the curriculum for the upcoming year has remained shrouded in mystery._

_Perhaps the greatest evidence in support of this theory is the appointment of Olivia Tonks (former Head of the Muggle Liaison Office, O.M. First Class) to the position of Muggle Studies Professor. When asked about her surprise and controversial appointment, Ms Tonks said that she was ‘excited’ to meet the children and to start her new job._

_“I’m happy to be swapping my stuffy old office for the classroom,” she said, speaking to us from her quaint seaside home in Porthdinllaen, Wales. “Relations with Muggles has always been a subject close to my heart and I look forward to sharing that passion with young minds who are eager to learn about the world around them.”_

_Olivia Tonks, a Shacklebolt loyalist, was recently awarded The Order of Merlin First Class for acts of valour during the Second Wizarding War (for more details on her award ceremony, see page 4)._

_When asked if her appointment was the Ministry’s attempt to tackle the growing threat of extremism amongst the student body, we were promptly removed from her property amid claims that she was ‘too busy’ to continue the interview._

Minerva scrutinised the photograph of Olivia (or Liv, as she had preferred to be called during her school days) closely. She remembered her well from when she had been a student—hardworking, with a thirst to prove herself—well-suited to Slytherin house. She had heard about Liv receiving the Order of Merlin, she and numerous others. Even Minerva had received one for her actions during the Battle of Hogwarts; she had discarded hers in the bottom drawer of her desk under a pile of parchment almost immediately after she had received it.

She didn’t know what Liv had won hers for—there were too many hearings, award ceremonies and memorials to keep track of in the last few weeks to remember them all—but she supposed Kingsley had a good reason to give her one. It was only on Kingsley’s suggestion that she was even considering Liv for the position of Muggle Studies Professor. The Prophet were right about one thing—Minerva didn’t want to repeat history by installing a Ministry strawman in her school just so that they could spy on or undermine her. Not that she really believed Kingsley would do that; he was a good man, loyal to the Order and a long-time friend of Minerva’s. That was the only reason she had even agreed to interview Liv. The Prophet had once again jumped the gun—there was no guarantee that Liv had the position yet. She would have to convince Minerva that she was up to the task first.

Minerva took a sip of her tea and turned her attention back to the article:

_Some argue that the decision to install a former Ministry official into such a key role at Hogwarts is in response to the recent controversial announcement by Headmistress McGonagall with regards to student attendance._

_Her judgement came into question when she announced publicly that “All children are welcome at Hogwarts. Your blood status, background, and those of your parents have no bearing. Hogwarts is a place of learning for all magical children.”_

_The implication that the children of Death Eaters were still welcome was praised and derided in equal measure. We spoke to Mrs Saoirse Finnigan, 47, whose son, Seamus, is a returning seventh-year student._

_“I don’t like the idea of Death Eaters’ kids being allowed back into the school,” she said from her Donegal home last night. “For all we know, some of them could be Death Eaters themselves! I didn’t want my Seamus going back this year, but he’s eighteen now, so the decision was his to make. Despite the dangers, he insisted on going back and getting his N.E.W.T.s. He’s a Gryffindor through and through, that one.”_

_Mrs Mora Zabini, 40, whose son is also a returning student, welcomed the Headmistress’s decision._

_“Every magical child deserves an education,” Mrs Zabini told the Prophet, from her Notting Hill residence. “I’m pleased that Headmistress McGonagall agrees.”_

_When asked about her own involvement with the Death Eaters, Mrs Zabini had this to say:_

_“I would like to make it clear that the rumours that myself and my son are in any way associated with Death Eaters are lies. My son has suffered a lot of abuse in the past couple of months simply because he is a Slytherin. There is a lot of unfounded prejudice against Slytherins in general. There were Death Eaters from all four houses, not just Slytherin. The tripe that you post in your newspaper doesn’t help matters.”_

_Mrs Zabini has been married seven times, each of her husbands dying mysteriously and leaving her a sizable widow's inheritance (for a more detailed profile of Mrs Zabini and her dearly departed husbands, see page 17.)_

_So it would appear to be the case that these reforms are in response to the rising threat of extremism within the Wizarding World and that Hogwarts’ Headmistress, however well-meaning, is ill-equipped to deal with the real threat of extremists infiltrating the institution._

_We are currently left with more questions than answers. Has Hogwarts indeed been infiltrated by an extremist movement? Will the rumoured programme of rehabilitation via the newly revamped Muggle Studies class be effective in combating this new threat? Are Headmistress McGonagall and Minister Shacklebolt to be out of a job sooner than we expect?_

_Only time will tell._

Minerva pushed the newspaper away in disgust and sank back into her tartan winged armchair, feeling irritable.

“Did you divine any greater insight from the article after reading it again, Minerva?” asked Albus Dumbledore casually.

Minerva glanced up at the old headmaster’s portrait hanging above her desk, his bright blue eyes twinkling down at her behind his half-moon spectacles. It was easy for him to look so relaxed in such a time of crisis, she mused. He was just a painting now, free from the pressures of headship. Lucky bugger.

“No,” she sighed. “I got the gist of things from reading it the first time.”

“Then you are a glutton for punishment,” Severus Snape sneered from his portrait placed to the right of Albus’s. He didn’t speak up as often as the other former headmasters and headmistresses that adorned the walls of the office, and when he did, it was usually a criticism of some kind. “You know that the Daily Prophet is a red top tabloid on its best day, why waste your precious time concerning yourself with what they have to say?”

“Because a lot of people listen to them, Severus, even if it is a rag,” she pointed out. “The war may be over, but people are still on edge and they’re taking advantage of that, stirring a Billywig’s nest just so that they can sell a few extra papers.”

“Anyone who believes anything that The Prophet has to say at face value is a fool,” he declared.

“I agree with Severus,” Albus nodded. “As a wise friend of mine once said, worrying only means you suffer twice. You cannot control what is published in the newspapers, Minerva. Your primary concern ought to be the school and its students.”

“The students are who I’m worried about,” she argued. “I’m concerned about how many parents believe the tripe that is written in this article and are now second-guessing whether or not to allow their children to attend Hogwarts.”

“So a few less troublemakers are in attendance at Hogwarts,” Severus shrugged. “You should count your blessings.”

“That is their choice to make,” Albus countered, ignoring Severus’s remark. “What I am concerned about is the inevitable disharmony between the four houses, particularly the mounting animosity directed towards Slytherin students. Mora Zabini is right: Slytherins must contend with a most unfortunate reputation.”

“Not an entirely unfounded one,” Minerva pointed out darkly. Albus gave her a sharp look.

“If you really believe that, then you’d best remove Severus’ and Phineas’ portraits from these walls.”

“She daren’t!” piped up Phineas Nigellus Black suddenly, no longer feigning sleep. “I earned my place here; you can’t remove us based on your own personal prejudices!”

“Take my portrait down if it so pleases you. All that I ask is that I be rehomed in the Slytherin Common Room. I may as well be where my endeavours are appreciated,” huffed Severus.

“I’m not going to remove you from the wall!” Minerva assured them both with an exasperated sigh. She cast a brooding look at the ancient patchwork Sorting Hat perched atop a high shelf. “I know that there are a lot of good people in Slytherin House—you the best among them, Severus.”

“Don’t try to butter me up, Headmistress. It is unbecoming of your position,” he protested, although he looked pleased at the compliment.

Minerva rolled her eyes and continued, “Right or wrong, when it comes to Slytherins and Death Eaters, people have an unfortunate habit of conflating the two. Slytherin has always set itself apart from the other Houses, but this…” She shook her head slowly, looking despondent. “The animosity that students will face when they return to Hogwarts will go way beyond mere inter-house rivalry for the House Cup or winning the Quidditch Cup...people died, Albus. The students were traumatised and abused by members of staff. Students were instructed to torture and report on each other for perceived treachery, and most of those involved were from Slytherin. It’s going to be an uphill battle trying to restore their reputation.”

“I expect there will be a lot of unruly behaviour from students towards the Slytherins this year—moreso than usual,” said Severus. “But Slytherins are, by their very nature, resilient. We have survived a war; they will survive this, too.”

“We can but hope,” she sighed wearily. “I’ve already received several owls from concerned parents wanting assurances that there won’t be ‘Death Eater offspring’, as Romilda Vane’s mother so eloquently put it, allowed on the school premises.”

“And what did you say to that?” asked Severus.

“The same thing I’ve been telling everyone—that Hogwarts is open to every magical child who wishes to learn here.”

“An admirable response,” Albus nodded approvingly.

“One that might see me ousted from this job sooner than Severus,” she quipped. “No offence.”

“None taken,” he replied lazily.

“I’ve also had a few parents owling me wanting assurances that their child won’t be turned away at the school gates,” said Minerva. “I even received a letter from Azkaban from Theodore Nott’s father begging me to grant his son readmission. Although, I must admit, I was surprised that Narcissa Malfoy contacted me requesting that Draco be allowed to resit his final year.”

“And what did you say in response?” asked Albus.

Minerva cleared her throat and rifled through the biscuit tin on her desk, avoiding his piercing gaze. “I haven’t replied yet,” she admitted quietly.

“Why not?” he asked sharply. Minerva flinched. Even though he was only a painting now, a shadow of the former man, he was still quite an intimidating figure.

“I’ve been busy,” she protested weakly, taking a bite from a piece of shortbread. “I’ve had quite a lot on my plate, you know.”

“You wouldn’t be ignoring Mrs Malfoy’s correspondence based on your own personal grievance with the boy?” he asked accusingly. All of the other portraits in the office were now listening with rapt attention. Minerva felt heat prickle her cheeks but she glared at the old headmaster.

“Of course not!” she replied hotly. “Although, I must admit that I’m surprised that you’re so keen to have him back on the premises, Albus.”

“We have been through this before, Minerva,” said Albus angrily. “Draco Malfoy was a mere pawn in Voldemort’s schemes. He was not the one who killed me.”

“No, I got that illustrious honour,” Severus cut in bitterly. “The very reason why I’m here now and not living a long and miserable life.”

“Well, I appreciate your company, Severus,” Albus offered kindly.

“Draco Malfoy as good as killed you,” Minerva countered darkly. “He gave Greyback and his ilk entry into this castle, putting everyone’s lives in danger. Bill Weasley almost died. _You did!”_

“He had no choice,” said Albus forcefully. “He acted under duress. His life and the lives of his parents were at stake.”

“I know that! I was at the Ministry hearings, I heard all about it,” she snapped, waving her hand dismissively. “I still don’t trust him, Albus.”

“Hogwarts is in crisis, Minerva. The four houses have never been so divided. How can you hope to bring unity to the school when you cannot look past your own misgivings?” he challenged.

“I don’t know!” she cried, throwing her hands up into the air. “Would you like an honest answer, Albus? I don’t know what I’m supposed to do! I’ve got Kingsley telling me that our staff should be on the lookout for odd behaviour from the students, which is a ridiculous request considering we’ve just spent the last year at war—odd behaviour is a bit of a given when the entire student body has been traumatised! We have too many students and not enough staff. It’ll be a miracle if the construction of the school is completed in time for the start of term. And on top of all of this, you want me to forgive and forget what that boy did! I know that I ought to be objective about this—consider the greater good…” She spat the last words with such force that Albus flinched as though they had struck him and Minerva shook her head woefully. “I just can’t do that. I’m not a mastermind like you and I don’t have the endurance that Severus did. I’m out of my depth here. Maybe...maybe I’m not cut out for this.”

Minerva buried her face in her hands and burst into tears. Albus and Severus watched her silently as she cried freely, Albus’s brow furrowed, concern set in deep lines in his ancient face. Severus’s expression remained impassive, but he didn’t criticise her like she had expected him to. He had been in her shoes, after all, and knew all too well the incredible strain headship at Hogwarts could put on you.

It was easier to be angry at Draco Malfoy than it was to sympathise with the impossible position that he had been put in. Because if she couldn’t blame him for her friend dying, who could she blame? She had blamed Severus, of course, not knowing until the closing moments of the final battle that Albus’s death had been orchestrated by the old headmaster in the first place. She was angry at them for not trusting her, but she had loved them both in life and had forgiven them in death. She wasn’t sure if she was quite ready to forgive Draco Malfoy yet. If only he had come forward and asked for help, things might have been so very different—Albus, Severus, Merlin knows how many others, might still be alive. It was easier to blame a boy who was foolish and afraid than it was to blame herself. She should have listened to Potter when he’d voiced his concerns over Draco’s behaviour, but she had dismissed him, convinced that his accusations were unfounded. She should have done more. If only she had listened, they might all have lived.

The last year had been the most challenging of her life. She had lost Albus, her mentor and oldest friend, and she hadn’t even had the chance to grieve his loss properly because, in one fell swoop, the Ministry and Hogwarts fell under Voldemort’s control. She had pushed her grief and fear aside and had returned to the school in an effort to protect the students as best as she could, although she didn’t feel as though she had made much of a difference. She had fought against Death Eaters and her own fear at the Battle of Hogwarts, watching helplessly as colleagues and students fell, dead and injured, all around her. Then she had seen Potter’s body, certain that he had died and all hope along with him, and her heart had shattered.

Mercifully, his death had been a ruse on Potter’s part. In the ensuing chaos, Minerva was caught up in a whirlwind of bodies and screaming and fighting. Then, just as suddenly, in what seemed like the blink of an eye, Voldemort was dead, the Battle was won and the war was over. She hadn’t even had time to catch her breath when the monumental task of repairing the school and everyone’s lives had begun. In truth, busying herself with her work had served as an excellent distraction from dealing with her own feelings.

Minerva closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, trying to compose herself. As her breaths evened out, the spiral of morose thoughts that had momentarily consumed her were tempered and pushed aside. She didn’t have time to be self-pitying: there was too much work to do, too many people were relying on her.

“My apologies,” she said evenly, running her hands over her hair, smoothing it out. “I felt a little overwhelmed there for a moment.”

“Comes with the territory, I’m afraid,” sighed Phineas. “To be appointed to such an illustrious position has overwhelmed us all at some point or another.”

A murmur of agreement rippled throughout the room as the portraits bearing generations of headmasters and headmistresses nodded in solemn agreement. Minerva McGonagall wasn’t the first person to cry in this office and she certainly wouldn’t be the last.

“We’ve all had our moments,” Severus relented softly. “Better losing your temper here, with those of us who can truly empathise with your position, than out there with the rabble.”

“The burden of headship is a heavy one to bear,” said Albus sadly. “But you are not alone. We are here to provide guidance and support.”

“Thank you,” she mumbled, brushing away the tears from her eyes. “I just don't know how to bring unity to the four houses when we are so divided amongst ourselves.”

“May I suggest that you start with an olive branch?” said Albus, smiling slightly.

Minerva suppressed a snort. An olive branch, he says. Where in the love of Morgana was she going to find that?

“Your guest has arrived, Minerva.” drawled Severus. Snapped from her morose revery, Minerva frowned and looked up at his portrait.

“Sorry?” she asked, confused. Severus arched an eyebrow at her.

“Miss Tonks is here,” he explained. “For the interview.”

“Oh!” Minerva quickly tidied her desk and shoved the newspaper into the top drawer out of sight. She had completely forgotten that she had arranged for Liv to come for a job interview this evening. Pushing her glasses up her nose again, she sat up straight in her seat and poured herself a fresh cup of tea.

“Thank you, Severus. You can send her up now.”

Severus rolled his eyes and slinked out of his portrait without another word. They still hadn’t gotten round to replacing the gargoyle that guarded the office after it got destroyed during the final battle. For the time being, they had resorted to placing an empty portrait by the office door and the former heads of Hogwarts took turns guarding the entrance—some more reluctantly than others.

“How much longer must we play guard duty?” whinged Phineas. “It is below our station!”

“Professor Flitwick is hard at work repairing the gargoyle,” sighed Minerva wearily. How many times did she need to repeat herself?

“But how much longer is it going to take?” Phineas pressed. Minerva shot him a sharp look.

“As long as it takes,” she replied stiffly. Phineas sniffed indignantly and slunk out of his portrait.

“You know, patience is a virtue, Phineas,” Albus called after him, winking at Minerva. She smiled at him and felt some of the tension that she had been carrying around all day ease a little. While a portrait was no substitute for the man, she was still glad of his company.

_Knock knock knock._

Three polite chaps at the wooden door signalled the arrival of her guest and Minerva opened her mouth to call out to her, but Albus spoke first.

“Minerva…” he asked cautiously. “With regards to Draco, I don’t expect you to forget what he did, but I implore you to at least try to forgive him. You will write to Mrs Malfoy, won’t you? You’ll give the boy a chance?”

Minerva wanted to say no. She wanted to toss Narcissa’s polite but pleading letter into the fireplace and forget all about her and her awful family. She’d had enough of the Malfoy’s schemes and prejudices. She wanted to say no and she was finally in a position where she could and nobody could argue otherwise. But instead, she thought about what was best for the school, what was best for the students, and ultimately, what was best for Draco. If Hogwarts was going to have any chance of reconciliation, she needed to include everyone, regardless of her personal feelings for certain individuals.

“Of course,” she nodded vigorously. “I’ll owl her after the meeting...to confirm Draco’s place for the next term.”

Three more chaps, slightly louder, followed. Minerva cleared her throat and called out in a clear voice.

“Come in!”


	3. Chapter 3

The heavy oak door creaked open and a pretty woman with a pale, heart-shaped face popped her head into the office. Her dark, twinkling eyes scanned the room and her face broke into a big smile when she saw Minerva.

“Professor McGonagall!” said Liv brightly, stepping into the room and closing the office door behind her. “It’s a pleasure to see you again. It’s been a long time.”

“It has indeed.” Minerva nodded in agreement, rising to her feet to greet her guest.

Liv strode towards Minerva, her hand already outstretched when suddenly she tripped over the hem of her long robes and stumbled forward. She barely managed to stop herself from falling flat on her face but the contents of the folder she was holding spilled all over the flagstone floor.

“Whoops! Sorry…” Liv mumbled an apology and quickly gathered up her papers, her blush matching the crimson robes that she wore. Minerva struggled to suppress a smile at the woman’s clumsy antics: evidently, Nymphadora had inherited her cousin’s gracefulness as well as her looks.

“Not to worry,” she assured her, taking Liv’s hand in a firm handshake before they both took their seats. “Tea?”

Liv nodded vigorously. “Please.”

Minerva conjured a fine bone china teacup and poured a fresh cup for Liv, placing the drink in front of her guest before topping up her own. Liv flashed Minerva a quick smile before picking it up and taking a sip.

“Mmm, that’s lovely,” she sighed, carefully placing the teacup back onto the desk. “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome.” Minerva gave a polite nod and took a sip from her own cup, giving Liv a thorough once-over. She hadn’t changed much in the twenty years since she had attended Hogwarts. A few streaks of grey had appeared in her fair hair and wrinkles now formed around her eyes when she smiled, but then the stress of working for the Ministry—especially in the last year—would turn anyone grey. Minerva’s eyes fell to the maroon robes and she smirked.

“If you think that wearing red is going to appeal to my Gryffindor sensibilities, you are sorely mistaken,” she warned. Liv chuckled.

“I wouldn't dream of it, Professor,” she grinned. “I appreciate you agreeing to see me. I must admit, after reading today’s Prophet article I was a little worried that you were going to cancel the interview.”

“It did cross my mind,” Minerva admitted.

“I don’t want you to get the wrong impression of me,” Liv continued. “What they quoted me as saying in the article, they twisted my words: I merely confirmed that I had put my name forward for the position. I wouldn’t presume to think that I had gotten the job before seeing you about it personally.”

Minerva huffed out a derisive laugh. “Yes, The Prophet does have a habit of twisting one's words to suit the agenda of the day. Don’t worry, I take anything that they say with a large pinch of salt. But enough chatter about The Prophet, let’s discuss the reason why I invited you here today: the Muggle Studies post.”

Liv sat up attentively in her seat, a look of steely determination in her eyes as Minerva pulled a piece of parchment towards her and scrutinised it closely. “You have quite an impressive C.V., Miss Tonks—”

“Please, call me Liv,” she implored. Minerva gave her a small smile.

“Very well, Liv. As I remember correctly, you graduated in nineteen seventy-four with five N.E.W.T.S. including an Outstanding in Muggle Studies—”

“Naturally,” Liv joked, rolling her eyes. Minerva ignored the interruption and continued her examination of the parchment.

“It says here that soon after you graduated, you emigrated to the United States and spent five years working for MACUSA at the Office for Magic Relations and Education. What did that job entail?”

“Well, broadly, the office was charged with issuing cultural and educational content to the Wizarding public. My work was primarily liaising with No-Maj-borns and their families who had no previous knowledge of the magical world until they had received their admissions letter to Ilvermorny,” she explained. “It was my job to help them make a smooth transition from No-Maj to Wizarding life as well as get them up to speed with Wizarding Laws and Regulations. You see, the Americans spend a large amount of their resources toward keeping the Wizarding community hidden from Muggle. Their legislation is incredibly strict, much more restrictive than it is here, to the point of being regressive in my personal opinion.”

“That’s something that we can both agree on,” Minerva muttered under her breath. “It appears that you only spent five years in the position. You didn’t like the job?”

“The job was fine.” Liv shrugged. “But after my dad died, I wanted to come home. I missed my family.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Minerva sympathised. “What made you choose to work at MACUSA in the first place, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Liv hesitated a moment before admitting, “If I’m completely honest, at that point in time the First War was escalating and I wanted to get as far away from it as possible.”

“Understandable.”

“I applied for a lot of jobs at the time,” Liv continued. “I’d had interviews at the Canadian Council of Magic and the Ministère des Affaires Magiques de la France…”

“You speak French?” asked Minerva interestedly. Liv grinned.

“Oui, principale.”

Minerva smiled. So far Liv was doing a good job of impressing her. “So, you had a number of opportunities open to you after you graduated, what made you choose America over the others?”

“My dad. He said that I should take the job at MACUSA: the money was better...and it was further away from the war.”

Minerva nodded in understanding. After Voldemort’s return, a lot of parents had opted to send their children overseas to other institutions like Beauxbatons and Ilvermorny instead of Hogwarts. She fleetingly wondered how many parents would choose to do the same again this year.

“So, you moved back to Britain and took up a post in the Ministry at the Muggle Liaison Office where you have worked for the last seventeen years,” she continued, perusing the parchment.

“That’s correct, Professor.”

“You started out as a Junior Assistant in Muggle Relations—I contacted Myra Curio, she spoke very highly of you.”

“Oh, that’s lovely to hear.” Liv blushed, looking pleased. “She was a great manager, I learned a lot from her.”

“Yes, I quite agree. I had the opportunity to work with her myself during my Ministry days. So, you worked your way up the ranks until you were appointed the Department Head two years ago upon Myra’s retirement,” Minerva looked up from the parchment and gave Liv a searching look. “It’s a very impressive C.V. You’ve achieved a lot for someone so young.”

“Thank you, Professor.”

“As Head of Muggle Liaisons, you’re well on your way to a successful career in politics. You might even be a shoo-in for Minister for Magic in a few years,” she mused.

Liv continued to smile, but it seemed a little forced. “I suppose so…”

“The money would certainly be better than a teacher’s wage at the very least,” Minerva chuckled. “You are a talented young woman with an illustrious career ahead of her. Why would you throw all of that away to take up a position at this school?”

It had been the question that Minerva had been bursting to ask since she had received Liv’s owl a few days prior inquiring about the vacancy. Even if she decided not to employ her, Minerva had to satisfy her curiosity and ask why she was so interested in applying for a job that was effectively a demotion. Liv, who had been all smiles and jokes up until now, looked incredibly reluctant to divulge this information.

“The Ministry and I have come to an impasse,” she replied evasively. “I want to take my career in a new direction. It’s a year of fresh starts for everyone, including myself. I’m sure you can understand that.”

Minerva, however, wasn’t satisfied with this paltry explanation. “If I were to give you this job, I would be entrusting you with my students’ education, and there is nothing of greater importance to me than the safety and well-being of my students. I will not employ anyone that I do not trust, and I don’t trust that you are being entirely honest with me in your reasons for wanting this job.”

“Is it really relevant to my qualifications for the position?” asked Liv testily.

“A well-written C.V. only says so much about someone’s character,” Minerva argued. “As much as I trust Kingsley, we haven’t had the best experience with Ministry-appointed staff members at this school. It would be naive of me if I didn’t ask why you were leaving a better job for this one.”

Liv screwed up her face as though she were about to argue with Minerva on this point, but instead, she sighed and drew her wand, placing it on the desk. Minerva frowned at the curious-looking wand, it was deep brown in colour with strong, oil-like grain patterns along the shaft.

“I understand that you don’t trust me because you don’t know me, so I am willing to explain to you how I came to this decision in order to gain your trust. The why and how are long and complicated, so I think it would be easier just to show you what happened than try to explain it.”

Minerva considered the proposition for a moment before giving her a curt nod. “That sounds acceptable.”

With the flick of her own wand, a cupboard in the far corner of the office swung open and a shallow stone basin slowly levitated through the air, coming to rest on the desk between herself and Liv. Liv, meanwhile, pressed the tip of her wand to her left temple in order to retrieve the relevant memories. When she withdrew her wand, she teased out a delicate string of wispy, silvery-looking thread from her temple. It hung suspended in the air for a few moments like a spider’s web, strung between the tip of her wand and the side of her head, but with a slight tug the connection was broken and the memory, clinging precariously to the tip of the wand, was tossed into the Pensieve.

As the memory struck the smoky surface of the Pensieve, its contents began swirling rapidly like a translucent whirlpool. After a few moments, the vortex slowed and an image began to take form. Minerva peered into the basin and saw Liv’s face come into view. The memory-version of Liv looked much the same as the woman in front of her minus the streaks of grey hair. Evidently, this memory wasn’t a recent one. She looked up expectantly at Liv.

“After you,” she indicated, nodding to the basin.

Liv pursed her lips and looked as though she were considering refusing the invitation, but she leaned forward into the Pensieve, dipping her face beneath the surface. Minerva followed suit, lowering her face beneath the smoky surface, and was immediately transported to an unfamiliar office. There were several people milling around the office although there appeared to be very little work getting done; several paper aeroplanes with _Ministry of Magic_ stamped along the edge of their wings swooped overhead, landing on various desks around the room, but they were being ignored as everyone chatted animatedly to one another.

A burst of laughter drew Minerva’s attention towards the centre of the room where the memory-version of Liv sat atop a desk, howling at a joke from none other than Nymphadora Tonks. She proceeded to change her hair colour to match the pointed green party hat that her cousin was wearing, making her laugh even more.

“June eighteenth, 1996,” said Liv, smiling sadly. “It’s my birthday.”

Minerva’s head snapped away from the festivities and towards Liv in surprise, “The same evening as Potter and his friends fight in the Department of Mysteries.”

Liv nodded solemnly. “That it is. Of course, this is much earlier in the day, before any of that took place. Little did I know that on this day, my life would change forever.”

They watched in silence as Liv slid off of her desk and placed a large slice of birthday cake onto a plate, then followed her as she marched across the room towards one of the private offices at the opposite end of the room. Liv tripped over the leg of one of the office chairs and almost dropped the cake in the process, but she managed to steady herself before knocking politely on one of the private office doors before entering. Minerva and Liv followed her inside and were met with what appeared to be a solid wall of parchment. Upon closer inspection, there was a desk underneath the precariously balanced piles of loose papers and folders. Sitting behind the desk, hidden behind the mountains of paperwork, was a small, serious-looking woman with large, square-rimmed glasses who Minerva recognised to be her friend and old work colleague, Myra Curio.

“Still got the nose to the grindstone, Myra?” Liv teased lightly, sidling past several boxes strewn across the floor so that she could hand the slice of cake to her boss. “You should come out and join the celebrations. Dirk and Dora have snuck out of their offices for a bit and he’s brought along some rum punch for us.”

Myra grunted in response and tossed the parchment that she had been reading onto her chaotic desk.

“Believe me, I’d much rather be out there partying with you lot. Thank you.” She took the plate from Liv and sat it on the desk without touching the food. “Take a seat, would you, Olivia? I’d like to have a word with you about something.”

Liv did as she was instructed and sat in the seat on the opposite side of the table, giving her boss a puzzled look.

“Is everything alright, Myra?” she asked, concerned. “If the rum punch is an issue, I’ll tell Dirk to make himself scarce…”

“No, no, it’s not that.” Myra shook her head and sighed, worry etched across her face. She looked as though she were of two minds about saying what was on her mind, but finally, she asked, “Olivia...have you noticed that our office has been a lot busier in recent months?”

Liv thought for a moment then nodded. “Yes, I suppose it has. There have been many more instances of Muggles coming into contact with the Wizarding community. Arnold says their office has been run ragged lately with the number of Obliviations that they’ve had to perform.”

“There’s been an increased number of violent incidents involving Muggles, too,” Myra added. “I spoke to Arthur Weasley about it in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office and he’s informed me that they’ve been happening across a lot more insidious items, not just prank items, but things created with the sole purpose of hurting Muggles.”

Liv frowned. “Oh right.”

“I’ve also compared notes with Amelia Bones,” continued Myra. “They’ve also seen an upsurge in the number of suspicious disappearances involving Muggles. Of course, Fudge is doing his damnedest to keep that out of the papers and he’s wasting our time and resources going after the Potter boy. Bloody fool...”

“What do you think it all means?” Liv asked cautiously.

Myra wrung her hands nervously. “Well if I’m honest, much the same thing happened on the lead up to the First Wizarding War.”

Liv’s eyes widened with shock. “War? Surely you can’t be serious.”

“I am,” Myra nodded gravely. “You know the rumours—that You-Know-Who is back...”

Liv scoffed, “There’s been rumours for years, Myra, you can’t believe every one that you hear.”

“I’m talking about empirical evidence, Olivia,” Myra argued. “It isn’t rumour and conjecture anymore: Death Eaters are on the loose. Muggle attacks and disappearances are on the rise, just like before. The Ministry did a good job of burying its head in the sand the first time around and they’re doing it again. Merlin, it’s like history is repeating itself. You were fortunate enough not to work here during the first war, so you don’t know how bad it got.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Liv asked nervously. Myra gave her a warm smile.

“Because I like you,” she said. “And more importantly, I trust you not to repeat my concerns to anyone else.”

“I won’t,” Liv assured her, shaking her head vigorously.

“If things go the way I think they will, then soon enough we’re going to have bigger things to concern ourselves with than the logistics around hosting the next Quidditch World Cup,” Myra grumbled. “You should start to seriously consider how much longer you want to keep working here at the Ministry.”

Liv gaped at her. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that you need to think about your options,” Myra replied evenly. “I worked here throughout the first war and it was a bloody nightmare. Being a Ministry worker put a target on your back and a lot of people got hurt or killed, but I’m too old and too tired to go through that again. You’re a smart lass, Olivia, and I’m just warning you about what is likely to come.”

Myra picked up the birthday cake and took a large bite out of it. Liv stared at her, shell-shocked at her grim predictions. The office scene dissolved into abstract shapes and colours and another began to take form. Liv turned her attention away from the changing scene to Minerva.

“We all came into the office the next morning to hear that Voldemort was back and that, effectively, we were at war,” she said. “Myra handed in her notice later that week and I got offered her job.”

“And you took it.”

“Naturally,” she shrugged. “I didn’t take Myra’s warning lightly, but I wasn’t ready to decide one way or another what I was going to do. Then things began to escalate—the Brockdale Bridge fell, giants destroyed large portions of the West Country, and then Amelia Bones was murdered.” Liv’s voice wavered a little as she recalled the death of her colleague, but she cleared her throat and continued, “Yes, Voldemort was back, but life continued as normal for most of us—we had work to do and bills to pay, war gave us no reprieve from our responsibilities. So, for the next year, while the number of disappearances and murders of Muggles and Magic folk increased, I kept going to work. I hoped, rather naively, that the Ministry would catch Voldemort and everything would go back to the way it used to be.”

The scene quickly dissolved and reformed into the same office from the previous memory, only this time it was Liv who sat behind the desk, looking nervous. If anything, the office appeared even more chaotic than it had previously, parchment spilling onto the floor and bulging out of the overfilled drawers of her desk.

“August second, 1997,” Liv continued. “Earlier that morning, I’d received an owl from my cousin, Ted, telling me that Minister Scrimgeour had been murdered the previous evening and that the Ministry had fallen.”

Minerva raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Yet you still went to work?”

“I was afraid of what I’d find when I went into the office that morning, but I was equally scared that if I ran, I’d make myself a target,” Liv explained. “I was scared witless, but I decided that, for the time being, it was safer for me to stick to my usual routine until I figured out what the hell I was going to do.”

They watched as Liv peered out of her office door, which she had purposefully left open. A number of her colleagues had also shown up to work but a few were conspicuously absent. Liv pulled a blank piece of parchment towards her and began furiously scribbling a note. Once her note was finished, she tapped it with her wand and it folded itself into a paper aeroplane before taking flight out of the office and out of sight.

“I wrote a nondescript memo to Nymphadora just to see whether or not she had turned up for work,” Liv explained. “I didn’t want to draw attention to myself by going to her office without good reason.”

A few minutes passed and another paper aeroplane flew into the room, landing on the messy desk. Tearing open the letter, Liv read the short reply and sighed, thumping her head against the desk. She looked equal parts relieved and distressed that her younger cousin had also decided to turn up for work.

_“Hem hem.”_

Liv’s head shot up from the desk at the sudden interruption, the note still stuck to her forehead. Standing on the other side of her desk was a woman that Minerva hated more vehemently than anyone else in the world.

“M-Madam Umbridge,” Liv stammered, tearing the note off of her forehead and stuffing it into the top drawer of her desk, out of sight. “How can I be of assistance?”

“Not sleeping on the job are you, dear?” Umbridge sneered, her pouchy eyes narrowing. Liv shook her head vigorously.

“No, Madam.”

Umbridge’s slack mouth stretched into a false smile. “Good. Well, I’m here with important and exciting news for you, Miss Tonks: you’re getting a promotion.”

Liv gaped at her. “A promotion?”

“Yes indeed. You might have heard that, as of this morning, the Ministry is under eh... _new management_. As such, a few changes have been made,” she simpered, handing a bright pink folder to Liv. “There will be no need for a Muggle Liaison Department anymore, so your Department has been dissolved, effective immediately. You and your staff now work for me in the newly-formed Muggle-Born Registration Commission. You are now Deputy Head of The Muggle-Born Registration Commission, quite a step up from your previous post.”

“Th-the what now?” Liv stammered, her hands shaking as she flicked through the lurid-coloured folder.

“The Muggle-Born Registration Commission,” Umbridge repeated slowly in a condescending tone. “The new Minister for Magic has ordered for all so-called ‘Muggle-borns’ to present themselves for interview in order to prove that they haven’t obtained magical power by nefarious means. I will need all of the records that your department has collected over the years of Mudbloods and to begin issuing summons letters to them.”

Anger flashed across Liv’s face when Umbridge said the word ‘Mudblood’ but she quickly schooled her expression into a forced smile.

“As you wish, Madam,” she replied, her voice slightly higher pitched than usual. “As much as I appreciate the promotion, I hope that you don’t mind me asking why my department has been dissolved? Only, it’s going to take some time for everyone to wrap up their current case work and…”

Liv’s speech faltered as Umbridge’s fake smile fell. “It isn’t your job to ask questions, Miss Tonks; it is simply your job to do as you are told. That isn’t going to be a problem, is it?”

Liv lowered her gaze and mumbled, “No, Madam.”

Umbridge grinned. “Excellent! I look forward to working with you, Miss Tonks, you came highly recommended.” Umbridge turned on her heel and strode towards the exit. Pausing at the door she turned to Liv and said, “Be sure to get those records to me as soon as possible. And congratulations on your promotion.”

“Thank you, Madam,” Liv replied flatly, staring at the pink folder in her hands.

“You didn’t put up much of a fight,” Minerva pointed out accusingly.

“No, I didn’t,” Liv admitted quietly.

The scene began to dissolve again, the colours diffusing into a swirl of shapeless colours before slowly reforming back into the office again. Liv remained seated behind her desk, looking considerably thinner and paler than before. She yelped in surprise as someone knocked loudly on her door and a moment later a dishevelled-looking man slipped inside without waiting for an invitation.

“Dirk,” Liv hissed, looking panicked. “What are you doing here? If Umbridge saw us talking...”

“I need your help, Olivia,” Dirk pleaded, sinking into the seat in front of her desk. “I got a letter from your office this morning. I’m being summoned to speak to the Commission about my heritage.”

“Shit,” Liv hissed under her breath. “What are you going to do?”

Dirk looked pleadingly at Liv. “I, um...I was hoping that you could help.”

Liv blinked. “I...I can’t, Dirk. I wish that I could...I’m sorry.”

“But you have access to all of the files,” he argued, his voice shaking. “You could just go into the cabinet, take out my folder and throw it away. There are so many names in there, they’ll never notice that one is missing…”

“They would notice,” she argued, shaking her head. “They’d find out and then we’d both be thrown into Azkaban! Can’t you...can’t you just leave? Leave the country for a bit until this all blows over?”

“I can’t afford that!” he cried. “And it’s not just me, I’ve got Cheryl and the boys to think about. If I quit now, Yaxley and his lot will know why and arrest me anyway. If I’m going to make it through this bloody war in one piece, I need to keep my head down.”

“So do I,” she countered stiffly.

“Please, Olivia,” he begged. “We’ve been friends for years, haven’t we? That must count for something!”

Liv’s shoulders sagged and she shook her head. “I’m sorry but there’s nothing I can—”

_Knock knock._

Both Dirk and Liv jumped as someone knocked and the office door burst open. They both visibly recoiled as a tall man with long, pale blonde hair tied into a neat braid down his back entered the room. When he caught sight of Dirk, his eyes narrowed.

“Am I interrupting something?” he asked in a low, scratchy voice.

Liv shook her head vigorously. “No, sir. Mister Cresswell was just leaving.”

Despite his cue to exit, Dirk hesitated. He drew Liv one more silent look of pleading before he hurried out of the office without another word. The man Minerva recognised to be a Death Eater, Corban Yaxley, waited until Dirk had left the office before speaking again.

“Why was he here?” he asked accusingly. “He wasn’t bothering you, was he?”

“No, sir. We were wondering whether or not England would be participating in the Quidditch World Cup next summer,” she lied. “We heard Senegal is in with a good shot of winning. It was a trivial conversation, we shouldn’t have been speaking about it during work hours. I’m sorry, sir, it won’t happen again.”

Yaxley didn’t look entirely convinced by the lie, but he appeared to let it slide as he changed the subject.

“Very well, see that it doesn’t. I need you to stop whatever it is that you’re doing at the moment and start pulling all of the information that we have on the Mudblood Hermione Granger,” he said, eyeing her small, cramped office with mild interest, every inch of which was covered with boxes and files on confirmed and potential Muggle-Borns. Liv frowned.

“Why?”

The words slipped past her lips before she could stop herself and she shrunk under the sharp look that Yaxley drew her.

“If you must know, we’ve been trying to track down her parents but, so far, to no avail,” he explained. “I need you to double check that your office haven’t neglected to give us everything when we requested her files the first time.”

“Trying to find Miss Granger’s parents as leverage, I suppose?” asked Minerva, her voice brittle with anger. Liv confirmed with a curt nod.

“I’ll get on that right away, sir,” said Liv and Yaxley gave her an appraising smile.

“You’re always so polite,” Yaxley mused. “Always eager to help.”

Liv’s mouth twitched. “Just doing my job, sir.”

“Maybe...it would be nice if someone helped you out for a change, wouldn’t it?” he crooned, leaning over her desk with hands spread apart. “You spend a lot of hours cooped up in this office, Miss Tonks. A pretty little bird like yourself should be seen on the arm of someone worthy of your time. Scum like Creswell aren’t worth wasting your breath over.”

Liv’s expression hardened as Yaxley leaned closer. “What exactly are you suggesting?”

Yaxley’s pale blue eyes lingered on Liv’s left hand. “Am I to presume correctly that there isn’t a Mister Tonks waiting for you at home?”

“Oh, Merlin,” grumbled Minerva in disgust. Liv sighed wearily and shook her head.

“Don’t get me started,” she muttered.

The memory-version of Liv drew Yaxley a forced smile. “No, there isn’t. But then again, there’s a higher chance of there being a Misses Tonks waiting at home for me than a Mister.”

Minerva couldn’t help but snort at the shocked expression that flashed across Yaxley’s face before it hardened again into an ugly scowl. He quickly straightened himself to his full height, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“Dig out those records quickly if you know what’s good for you,” he warned before marching out of the office, slamming the door shut behind him.

A satisfied smirk teased the corners of Liv’s lips but it fell just as quickly. Sinking back into her seat, she looked around her office, looking contemplative.

“I’m trying to make up my mind what to do about Dirk,” Liv explained quietly as though she might interrupt her memory-version’s train of thought. “We’d been friends since our Hogwarts days, you know. I met him in Professor Sprout’s greenhouses on the first week of term. He rescued me from getting strangled by one of her beloved Devil’s Snare plants. We became good friends after that.”

Liv quieted as she watched the memory-version of herself spin around on her chair to face the cabinets behind her and proceed to rifle through one of them. After a bit of searching, she pulled out two files, one bearing the name Dirk Cresswell and the other, Edward Tonks. She slipped the files into her handbag before proceeding to trawl through the other cabinets in search of the files that Yaxley had asked for.

“Dirk was right: years of friendship had to count for something,” said Liv grimly. “I’d sat on my hands and done nothing for long enough. I went over to his house that evening and doctored his family tree and birth certificate to show that he was a half-blood—he wasn’t going to pass for a pureblood, but as a half-blood, he’d be afforded some protection. I went over to Ted’s later that evening hoping to do the same thing for him. Of course, these sort of things seldom go as we plan them to…”

The scene quickly changed and reformed into a small cottage kitchen. Liv sat at the kitchen table arguing with her cousin, Ted, while his wife, Andromeda, looked on in wary silence.

“What do you mean ‘no’?” asked Liv incredulously. Ted crossed his arms and shrugged.

“I mean that I won’t lie to those bastards about who or what I am. And I won’t be registering with that Committee you work for, either.”

“I’m putting my bloody neck on the line doing this for you!” she hissed, pointing accusingly at him.

“I didn't ask you to,” he snapped. “Who else are you helping? Are you trying to help out others in my position or just the ones that _you_ care about?”

“What does it matter who else I’m helping? That’s not the point, I—urgh…” she spluttered. “This is serious, Ted. If you don’t do this, they will come for you. They’ll send you to Azkaban...or worse. Stop being an idiot and just let me change the papers for you!”

“No,” he replied shortly, but firmly. Liv snarled and slapped her hand against the table in frustration.

“Why are you being so bloody stubborn about this?”

“It’s a matter of principle,” he argued. “I won’t pretend to be something that I’m not. I’m not ashamed of what I am or where I came from.”

“Principles won’t mean shit if you’re dead!” she shouted. A stunned silence followed that declaration and Andromeda stared fixedly at her husband, waiting for his response. Ted, however, remained defiant.

“I appreciate the offer, Olivia,” he replied steadily. “But my answer is still no.”

“You and your bloody principles,” muttered Andromeda in a low, shaky voice. She jumped to her feet and stormed out of the kitchen, tears streaking her pale face. Ted stared after her, looking despondent, but he didn’t go after her. Liv shook her head in disbelief.

“Alright, so my intentions are selfish,” she admitted. “But you’re the only family that I’ve got left. I don’t want to lose you.”

“You’ve got Dora and Andromeda as well,” he reminded her. Minerva noticed rather ominously that Ted hadn’t reassured her that she wasn’t going to lose him—evidently he was well aware of the danger he was in.

“Please, Ted,” Liv pleaded desperately. “Let me do this for you.”

“And what will they do to you if they find out that you helped me?”

“They won’t find out,” she argued, but Ted gave her a sad smile and shook his head.

“Even if I didn’t have my ‘bloody principles’, I wouldn’t put you in danger for my sake, Liv,” he said gently, squeezing her hand. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and shining with tears.

“What are you going to do?” she asked in a small voice. Ted was silent for a few moments.

“I don’t know.”

The scene dissolved and a quick succession of memories followed: they cut between Liv doing her best to make herself invisible at work and avoiding Yaxley and Umbridge, while her evenings were spent in her small bedroom listening avidly to _Potterwatch_ for news.

“Ted and Dirk were on the run at this point,” Liv explained as they watched her memory-version lean close to the radio, chewing her lip worriedly. “Doctoring Dirk’s paperwork bought him time but eventually they found out it was a forgery.”

“And Ted?” Minerva inquired.

“I heard word around the office that Yaxley was sending Death Eaters to pick him up,” she explained. “I sent him a Patronus warning him that they were coming. He managed to get out just before they arrived at the cottage.”

Minerva drew her a curious look, “Only Order members know how to cast the messenger spell using the Patronus. How did you…”

“Dora taught me,” she said with a fond expression. Minerva gave a curt nod in understanding and turned her attention back to the scene unfolding before her.

"Listeners, that brings us to the end of another _Potterwatch_ ,” came the familiar, staticky voice of Lee Jordan from the radio. “The next password will be 'Meadowes'. Keep each other safe. Keep faith. Good night."

They watched as day in, day out, Liv repeated the same routine: filing paperwork, listening to the radio, crying herself to sleep, going to work, filing paperwork, listening to the radio… With each passing day she grew paler and thinner and more grey hair sprouted from her fair head.

“Every show that their names weren’t called was a moment of sweet relief before the dread quickly set in again; tomorrow could be the day that they said their names in the list of victims,” Liv said quietly, watching herself trying to tune the radio again. “And then one day...they did.”

Liv turned the dial on the radio and suddenly Lee Jordan’s voice rang clear through the small speaker.

"—take a moment to report those deaths that the _Wizarding Wireless Network News_ and _Daily Prophet_ don't think important enough to mention,” he announced in a solemn voice. “It is with great regret that we inform our listeners of the murders of Ted Tonks and Dirk Cresswell…”

Liv’s eyes widened with shock and she shoved the radio away from her as though it had stung her. It clattered to the floor with a loud bang, cutting Lee off mid-sentence. Liv clung to the vanity table for support, gasping for air, unable to catch her breath. She had turned deathly pale and Minerva worried that she might faint from the shock. Suddenly, the mirror on the vanity table cracked and Liv burst into tears, her head buried into her hands as she wailed like a wounded animal, her grief spilling out of her. Minerva cast a wary glance at the woman standing beside her; it couldn’t be easy for her to relive this moment, particularly when the events had transpired only a few months prior.

“Are you alright?” she asked gently. Liv kept her eyes to the ground, pointedly ignoring the scene unfold in front of her, but she gave a curt nod.

“I’m fine,” she choked. “This’ll be over in a moment.”

The scene dissolved and reformed one last time, this time following Liv as she marched through the Atrium at the Ministry of Magic, looking eerily calm.

“When is this?” asked Minerva.

“The next morning,” Liv replied and Minerva drew her a sharp look.

“You went into work?” she asked incredulously. “After what you had just heard?”

Liv shrugged. “In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the smartest decision I ever made.”

They followed Liv as she made her way through the Atrium, struggling to keep up with her pace as she hurried past the _Magic is Might_ monolith that dominated the centre of the great hall without giving it a second glance, then down the golden lifts that shuddered to a halt in front of her office. Nobody gave her a second look or thought; she might as well have been invisible, and that suited her just fine.

Stepping into the confines of her small office, she slammed the door shut behind her. Turning slowly on the spot, she looked around despairingly at the numerous cabinets, boxes and folders, each one containing the names of Muggle-Borns that she had meticulously filed herself.

“It began to hit me, then,” Liv whispered. “What the price of my silence was. Countless lives were ruined because I kept my head down, too afraid and too selfish to help anyone other than myself. There’s a famous Muggle saying, ‘The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing’. I wasn’t any better than Umbridge or Yaxley…Ted and Dirk were dead, and I had done nothing to stop it.”

Minerva opened her mouth to argue this point, to assure her that she and those monsters were nothing alike, but her attention was drawn back to the scene before her as Liv pulled her wand from her robe pocket—different from the one that she had brought to her office this evening, she noted—and pointed it at the office door.

_“Colloportus,”_ she muttered and the door clicked shut. She flicked her wand through the air again. _“Fianto Duri. Repello Inimicum.”_

As the locking and protective charms took hold, Liv turned to face her desk again. Her expression was stony, but her eyes had a mad glint to them. She raised her wand again and pointed it towards the piles of parchment that littered her desk.

_“Incendio!”_

 

Minerva gasped as the desk burst into flames and the parchment quickly shrivelled and turned to ash. Liv slashed her wand through the air again, causing several jets of flames to fly across the small office space, exploding on impact as they hit cardboard boxes, sending paperwork, ash and red hot sparks flying in all directions. As she raised her wand to strike again, she paused as she heard loud banging and angry, muffled voices coming from her office door.

“I’d put up locking charms,” Liv piped up suddenly. “But I had forgotten to cast a bloody Silencing Charm. Idiot.”

Evidently set to destroy as much of the paperwork as possible, Liv ignored the interruption and proceeded to slash her wand through the air several more times, determined to set alight every last piece of paper. As the flames leapt higher, feverishly devouring the names and locations of every Muggle-Born that they had on record, Liv grinned maniacally to herself at what she had done before collapsing to the floor, coughing and gasping for what little air remained in the sealed room. The fire encircled her, trapping her in the centre of the room as the flames began to emit copious amounts of black smoke that choked her, but she didn’t care. She wouldn’t unlock that door for anyone.

Suddenly, the office door exploded off of its hinges and, amidst the smoke and flames, Yaxley’s imposing figure came into view. Pointing his wand at the doorway, he extinguished some of the flames so that he could reach Liv. Barely conscious, she used the last of her waning strength to raise her wand at Yaxley in a feeble effort to hex him, but he simply kicked the wand out of her hand. The wand skited across the floor before disappearing into the flames.

“Stupid bitch!” he snarled, grabbing her by the hair and dragging her out of the burning office. Several Ministry workers and Death Eaters stood outside the office, staring wide-eyed with shock and fright as flames and plumes of smoke poured out into the larger office. Yaxley threw Liv roughly onto the floor, his wand still pointed at her as he glowered at the dumbstruck crowd surrounding them.

“Well, don’t just stand there!” he bellowed. “Put the fire out!”

His booming voice seemed to snap them out of their trance. Several Death Eaters drew their wands and hurried forward to try and put the fire out.

“Quickly! We might be able to recover some of the files!” Yaxley barked. He pointed at another Death Eater who stood nearby. “You! Take her down to Interrogation.”

“We’re keeping her alive, sir?” asked the Death Eater, sounding surprised. Yaxley drew Liv a predatory grin that made Minerva’s blood run cold.

“Clearly she works for The Order. We need to extract any information she has before we dispose of her, but that doesn’t mean that her stay here needs to be pleasant.”

As the final scene began to dissolve, Minerva lifted her head out of the Pensieve and slumped back into her chair, feeling drained.

“Yaxley was convinced that I was part of The Order, so he kept me in the holding cells at the Ministry, determined to get information from me that I just didn’t have,” said Liv matter-of-factly. “The last few weeks of the war were unpleasant, to say the least, but I was beyond caring at that point—I had lost Ted and Dirk and I just wanted to hurt the people who had taken them from me. Destroying the files, throwing a spanner in the works of their operation, that was the only way I knew how. Not that it made much of a difference: when the Aurors finally released me from the holding cell, they told me that the war was over. I’d sat on my hands for the whole war and then I sat in a bloody cell, oblivious as the final battle raged on. The story of my life…”

“This...this is a lot to take in,” sighed Minerva, draining her cup of the last of its tea. It had long since gone cold but she barely noticed. She was trying to process everything that Liv had shown her. “The fire you set, I don’t remember it being reported in The Prophet.”

Liv shrugged. “I suppose that they didn’t want to advertise the fact that they had lost all of the Muggle-Born records. It might have emboldened some people to fight back and given others the opportunity to run.”

“Destroying the records...presumably that is why Kingsley awarded you an Order of Merlin?”

Liv screwed up her nose in distaste. “It was, not that I deserved it. What I did wasn’t out of bravery, it was only out of anger.”

Minerva frowned at her. “Your actions would have indirectly saved the lives of a lot of people, Miss Tonks.”

“Not the ones that mattered to me.”

Liv’s face burned red and she lowered her gaze as she realised what she had just said. She seemed to have momentarily forgotten that this was a job interview, but Minerva appreciated her speaking honestly about her feelings.

“Whatever your intentions, you earned that medal,” she argued. “Kingsley wouldn’t have given it to you otherwise.”

Liv shook her head, looking miserable. “I’m not brave like Potter or Dora or yourself, Professor. I just tried to keep my head down and get through the war in one piece. When I finally chose to act, it was too little too late.”

“It’s never too late to redeem yourself,” Minerva countered, her eyes unconsciously wandering towards the letter Narcissa Malfoy had sent her. Liv didn’t look convinced, so Minerva thought it was better to change the subject. “It’s been two months since the war ended, what have you done since then?”

Liv let out a weary sigh. “Well, Kingsley was quick to re-establish the Muggle Liaison Department and he wanted to keep me on as the Department Head. I tried to go back to work but after everything that happened there...I don’t feel comfortable being there.”

_She doesn’t feel_ safe _there,_ mused Minerva. Knowing what kind of monster Yaxley was like, that didn’t come as a surprise to her. She knew better than to ask Liv about the finer details of her imprisonment at the Ministry—it wasn’t her place to ask. Instead, she did what she often did in times of crisis and opened up the large tartan biscuit tin on her desk.

“Would you like a biscuit?” she offered. Liv raised her eyebrows in surprise at the gesture before giving Minerva a small, but genuine, smile.

“Thank you,” she said, sounding relieved for the distraction, and took a ginger snap. Minerva placed a slice of shortbread on the edge of her saucer before topping up both of their cups with fresh tea.

“I understand why you were reluctant to show me what happened, but I appreciate your honesty,” she offered. “Thank you for trusting me.”

Liv nodded mutely and took a bite from her biscuit.

“I hope you understand why I had to ask.”

Liv smirked. “And I hope you understand why I chose not to include it on my C.V. You put ‘Dark Lord lackey’ on your application form, most people would turn tail and run,” she joked. “Besides, it wasn’t like I could ask Umbridge and Yaxley for a reference. In truth, I knew that it would come up during the interview. I _hoped_ that it wouldn’t but I knew that it would. I hope that I have earned your trust now.”

“Trust is something earned over time, Miss Tonks,” Minerva argued. “So tell me why, after what you have just shown me, do you think that I should employ you?”

Liv looked up at Minerva again with a determined expression.

“Because, as you pointed out yourself, I’m more than qualified for the position,” she reminded her. “I possess a unique combination of skills and experience that others can’t bring to the role. I have over twenty years of experience in Muggle Liaisons and I have faced a lot of unique and challenging cases, but as I’ve already demonstrated, I’m adaptable to any given situation.”

“Indeed,” Minerva replied drily.

“And more importantly than any of that, I want to do something good,” she continued. “For once in my life, I want to be a positive influence, to use my knowledge and experience to help others, and this job provides me with the perfect opportunity to do that.”

“That it would be,” Minerva mused, taking a sip from her tea before continuing, “Have you brought a provisional lesson plan, as I requested?”

“Yes, Professor,” said Liv keenly, handing over the emerald folder that she had been clutching throughout the interview. “If you don’t mind me saying, I believe the previous curriculum was a little outdated. I think there should be less focus on how to cope with non-magical technologies and greater emphasis on understanding Muggle society from a historical and sociological perspective. I’d also like the classroom to be more of an active learning environment for the students; I want them to participate more in discussions and activities as opposed to passively listening.”

“Interesting…” Minerva carefully read through the proposal before pausing at one page in particular. She frowned and looked up at Liv.

“This…” she said flatly, jabbing the page with a bony index finger. “This is part of your plan?”

“Yes, Professor,” she replied confidently. “I know it’s a little unorthodox, but I think it'll be just what the students need right now.”

Minerva reread the proposal again to make sure that she had read it correctly the first time. “This is an unusual approach.”

“You don’t approve?” asked Liv nervously. Minerva shook her head.

“No, I think it is an inspired idea,” she countered. “Although I am uncertain if you will be able to enlist the students’ participation.”

Liv drew her a sly grin. “You just let me worry about that, Professor. Is the rest of the lesson plan to your satisfaction?”

Minerva scrutinised the papers for a few moments, but she had already made up her mind. She looked up at Liv and extended her hand across the table. Liv broke out into a wide grin and shook the proffered hand.

“Your lesson plan is sound, Professor Tonks. I look forward to seeing you put your plan in action. Welcome to Hogwarts.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I commissioned the very talented [lomichelotti](https://www.fiverr.com/lomichelotti/draw-your-oc-or-fanart?source=order_page_summary_gig_link_title&funnel=a3ba790e-1a0a-47bf-8b82-3bff4753e3ba) to draw Liv Tonks and they drew her exactly as I imagined her! They're very reasonably priced, anyone interested in getting their own work drawn, I highly recommend checking them out.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry James Potter’s tale was one as old as time itself: a young boy who believed that he was unexceptional in every way until one day his life is changed forever. The once-ordinary boy achieves extraordinary things and embarks on many adventures; it’s a familiar story that we’ve all read before, stories that Harry himself read as a child. Long story short, he beat the bad guy, saved the day and got the girl, and they all lived happily ever after.

Well, that is, until a few weeks ago when his girlfriend broke up with him.

He knew that girls breaking up with their boyfriends was pretty normal, that it happened all the time. For a boy who had wanted nothing more than to be normal, this wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind. For once in his life, he would have been content to live out the hero’s fantasy by walking off into the sunset with Ginny on his arm. Of course, Harry’s life was anything but easy or straightforward, so he really should have known better.

So instead of enjoying story-ending sunsets, Harry was currently sat beneath the shade of a large apple tree at the bottom of the Weasleys’ garden, feeling irritable. His summer had started out better than he could have ever have hoped. He was alive, for one thing; that was an unexpected bonus. The war was over and he had come out the other end of it relatively unscathed. Knowing that he never had to see his aunt and uncle again was another plus. He and Ginny had reconciled, and Mr and Mrs Weasley had opened up their home to him until he and Ginny found a place of their own. All things considered, life couldn’t have been better. Then, predictably for Harry, things had gotten...complicated.

 

“Harry!”

Mrs Weasley’s voice echoed in the distance but he didn’t reply to her summons. Instead, he sat quite still, hoping that she would leave him be. Even after the break-up, Mrs Weasley had insisted that he continue to stay at the Burrow on account of Harry practically being her son anyway and that Grimmauld Place, in her words, ‘wasn’t fit for Doxys to live in’, let alone one of her boys. Although he and Ginny had parted amicably, living under the same roof as his ex-girlfriend was a little awkward. But for the time being, his options were limited, so he remained at the Burrow, trying his best to keep out of everyone’s way. He had mastered that over the years living at the Dursleys’, long before he ever received his father’s Invisibility Cloak; he knew how to make himself small, invisible and unnoticed if he wanted to.

As upsetting as the breakup had been, he had been relieved that it had happened while Ron and Hermione were in Australia. Ron’s reaction to the news had been what Harry had expected—a Howler arrived at the breakfast table a few days after the fact and Ron’s bellowing voice threatened to beat his best mate senseless for breaking his little sister’s heart. Mrs Weasley had been mortified to hear her youngest son use such colourful language and Mr Weasley had stared fixedly at his morning paper, pretending he couldn’t hear the voice screaming insults in the small kitchen. When Ginny had written back to him explaining that she was, in fact, the one who had broken up with Harry, a confused but abated Ron had written back to Harry apologising for losing his temper and offering his condolences and support.

At least for the briefest of moments, Harry had come close to achieving his happy ending. And as much as Harry’s life and head were in a mess, he would be lying to himself if he’d said he’d rather be anywhere else but here, at the Burrow, in the orchard and under this well-shaded apple tree, taking a few moments rest from the constant circus that was his life.

When Mrs Weasley didn’t call on him again, Harry relaxed against the rough bark of the tree. He took off his trainers and socks and wiggled his toes into the cool grass and soil, enjoying the blades of grass tickling the bottom of his hot feet. It was a pleasant sensation and something that he had always enjoyed doing as a child, although heaven forbid his Aunt Petunia ever caught him doing it; getting grass stains on her peach carpet would have earned him at least a week in the cupboard. Not that he had to worry about that anymore, he supposed. He doubted the Dursleys spared a thought for him and he didn’t care much to think of them either.

Pushing the Dursleys out of his mind, Harry focused on his beautiful surroundings. Long lines of apple trees stretched out in all directions, obscuring Harry’s view of the nearby village and Burrow. Their century-old branches sagged under the weight of the swollen red Braeburns, ready and begging to be eaten. He reached out for one particularly fat apple dangling from a low branch just above his head. With a slight twist, he plucked the fruit free from its stalk and inspected it closely for blemishes before taking a bite, his mouth already salivating as his teeth sunk into its soft flesh. Sweetness spread across his tongue and he licked his lips, savouring the sweet-tart flavour and crisp bite of the delicious fruit.

Harry had visited the apple orchard several times over the years, usually to play Quidditch with the Weasleys, but this summer, it had been his little oasis away from the rest of the world, a peaceful place where he didn’t need to think or worry about anything, where he could simply be. Granted, those peaceful moments had been few and far between in the four months since the war had ended, but right now he was enjoying a rare, blissful moment of solitude.

He made quick work devouring the apple, tossing the core into the tall grass and out of sight before settling back against the tree trunk, licking the juice from his sticky fingers. The apple had quenched his thirst, but it did little to abate the heat of the scorching afternoon sun. The leaves in the trees whispered as they swayed in the light breeze and cool air caressed his clammy skin, a small respite from the intense heat. It had been one of the hottest summers that he could remember, far too hot to do anything in his opinion; even thinking was too taxing in this weather.

Harry had hoped that since the war had ended, he might have some time to catch his breath and process everything that had happened in the last year (or the last eighteen years of his life, really), but even that was asking too much. Instead, he’d had countless funerals, testimonies and award ceremonies to attend, the latter of which he particularly detested. But he, above anyone else, was expected to bear witness to the destruction and mayhem that he had contributed to, and the guilty part of his conscience agreed that attending these events was the least that he could do. The only good thing about these events was that they distracted him from thinking about Ginny too much. So, he had appeared at innumerable memorials and celebrations without complaint. He had very little to say at these events beyond constantly reminding his admirers and well-wishers that the victory of the war was hard-fought for and won by many, not just him alone. This proclamation, however, mostly fell on deaf ears. He was sick to the back teeth of being lauded as a great war hero when he knew that he was anything but, contrite at the undeserving praise and irritated by the persistent use of the titles ‘Chosen One’ and ‘The Boy Who Lived.’

Harry grunted irritably and swatted away a fly that persistently buzzed around his face. It was embarrassing enough to be a grown man and still be dubbed ‘The Boy Who Lived’, worse still to be credited for the work and sacrifices of greater men and women than himself. He thought of Professors Dumbledore and Snape, of Remus and Tonks, Sirius, Fred, Dobby...all of those who had given everything to the fight and his stomach twisted unpleasantly at the paltry comparison.

“Bollocks,” he sighed wearily to himself. He had come out here with the intention of not thinking about all of these things. Closing his eyes, Harry tried again to clear his mind but it was no use; as peaceful as the orchard was, he was struggling to find any kind of peace within himself. But then, how could he find peace when his whole world had been uprooted and left in ruins? Every time he closed his eyes he saw the dead and dying; they haunted his dreams and occupied his thoughts every waking hour of the day. And as much as he tried to dress it up, Harry’s current situation was far from ideal: he had no home, no useful qualifications, and no plans for what the hell he was going to do with the rest of his life. He had even lost the Dursleys. Admittedly, he wasn’t sorry to see the back of his aunt and uncle, but he lamented the fact that what little normality he had known had been destroyed. His life was a mess and no amount of apples and orchards was going to fix that. And worse than all of that, and through nobody else’s fault but his own, he had lost Ginny. Harry unconsciously rubbed his chest; it felt constricted as though someone was squeezing his heart every time he thought about her.

“HARRY!”

 _Speak of the devil,_ he thought to himself. Ginny’s cry was much closer than Mrs Weasley’s. Evidently, she had been sent out to look for him. Not wanting to be found quite yet, he instinctively reached for his Invisibility Cloak but paused when he realised that he had left it along with his rucksack back at the house. Pulling his wand from the front pocket of his shorts, he twirled it around himself as though he were coiling an invisible rope around his body. He shivered as the sensation of cold, raw egg travelled down the top of his head and down his back. After a few seconds, he looked down and smiled to himself; his body was now the exact colour and texture of the grass and tree. Now invisible to the naked eye, he would just have to keep quiet enough until Ginny walked past.

“Harry, I know you’re out here,” she called, dipping in and out of view between the trees as she drew closer. She stalked forward in Harry’s direction and he held his breath as she walked past him without a second glance before coming to a stop between two trees. Turning in all directions as she searched in vain for him, she let out an exasperated sigh, brushing her long mane of red hair off of her pale, freckled shoulders and looking increasingly annoyed. She stepped under the shade of the larger of the two trees, causing a mosaic of shadows to dance across her sun-kissed face and Harry couldn’t help but think how beautiful she looked in that moment.

Ginny looked as though she was ready to give up the search when her gaze paused at the tree Harry was sitting under and her eyes narrowed. Harry’s heart missed a beat. Surely she couldn’t see him?

Drawing her wand she marched towards him then pointed it above Harry’s head and called, _“Flipendo!”_

The tree shuddered violently and a cascade of dislodged apples rained down on Harry, several striking him on the top of his head and shoulders as many more thudded and bounced across the soft grass. Harry shouted in protest and pain and he scrambled out from under the tree towards Ginny, who had a satisfied smirk spreading across her face. She flicked her wand lazily in Harry’s direction and muttered, _“Revelio.”_

Harry felt the effects of the Disillusionment Charm lift and he reappeared at Ginny’s feet on his hands and knees, looking up at her with a sheepish expression.

“Hi,” he greeted her a little too brightly.

“If you’re going to hide from me, you’re going to have to try harder than that,” she replied, slipping her wand back into its holster. Harry clambered back to his feet and brushed leaves and twigs out of his mat of thick black hair.

“I wasn’t hiding from you,” he began to argue, but Ginny drew him a sharp look and he relented, “Well, not from you specifically. How did you see me?”

“I didn’t, but your shoes gave you away,” she replied simply. Harry turned to look at the apple tree and grimaced as he noticed his scuffed, white trainers sitting at its base.

“Ah. Right…”

“Any particular reason that you’re out here hiding from us?” she queried lightly, crossing her arms. Harry shrugged.

“I suppose I just needed someplace to clear my head,” he explained. “I hoped coming here I might find...I don’t know, a piece of serenity, or something.”

“And how is the search coming along?”

“Not great,” he admitted. Ginny’s expression softened. She grabbed Harry’s arm and pulled him back under the shade of the apple tree.

“Serenity isn’t a place, Harry, it’s something that you need to find within yourself.”

Harry snorted and flopped back onto the grass. “Fat chance of me ever finding that, then.”

“You won’t if you keep carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders,” she warned. They both sat at the foot of the tree, Ginny sitting cross-legged in front of Harry while he rested against the trunk again, avoiding her gaze. She gave him a searching look.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed how distant you’ve been the last few weeks,” she accused. Harry grunted.

“I think the reason for that is pretty obvious,” he muttered, but Ginny shook her head.

“I know you well enough to know that’s not the reason—at least, not the only one. If something’s bothering you, you don’t have to sit out here mulling it over on your own. You could talk to me about it. We’re still friends, you know,” she reminded him. Harry pulled fistfuls of grass out of the ground, ignoring the query, but he stilled as Ginny rested her hand on his knee.

“Please, Harry,” she asked gently, her voice laced with concern. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“What isn’t?” he quipped. Ginny withdrew her hand and glared at him.

“Are you going to tell me what’s on your mind or am I better leaving you here to brood on your own?”

Harry sighed. He knew that Ginny meant well, but he wasn’t exactly famed for being open and honest about his feelings. Their friendship might be on rocky ground at the moment, but he still valued her opinion. “This summer...it’s been a bit mental, you know?”

“A bit,” she conceded with a small smile. “A lot of big changes. Some good. Others...not so much.”

 _You and me especially,_ he thought miserably. “You know I had no expectation that I would survive this war.”

“I know you didn’t.”

“Beyond searching and destroying Horcruxes and beating Voldemort, I didn’t spare much thought for what I was going to do with the rest of my life. Now, it’s all over and I’m just feeling a bit…”

“Lost?” Ginny chanced. Harry nodded. Ginny gave him a sympathetic pat on the arm.

“If it’s any consolation, I don’t think most people our age know what they’re going to do next week, let alone have the rest of their lives planned out,” she mused. “Well, everyone except Hermione.”

Harry chuckled. “Yeah, I’d be more concerned if she didn’t have her whole life mapped out already.”

Ginny gave Harry an understanding smile. “While your particular situation is unique, you’re not alone in feeling adrift. But now...well, you’ve got all the time in the world to figure out who you are, who you want to be, what you want to do...”

“I suppose so,” he mumbled. “A few people have asked whether or not I plan on applying for the Auror Academy.”

Ginny gave in an expectant look. “And?”

Harry hesitated before answering, “I mean, I did want to join the Aurors before the war and I think I still want to do it. Just...not right now.”

“Is that why you’re going back to Hogwarts?” she asked. “To give yourself some time to think about what you really want to do?”

“A bit, yeah,” he nodded. “And I’d like to have at least one year at school where I don’t have any kind of drama: no Dark Lords or Death Eaters or Dementors…”

“Or Basilisks and evil diaries,” Ginny interjected.

“Or Umbridge,” Harry added with a smirk.

“Urgh, please no more Umbridges!” she cried dramatically to the sky. Ginny and Harry laughed and smiled at each other and it almost felt like the way it used to be, how Harry thought it ought to be, between them. He picked one of the freshly fallen apples from the ground and handed it to Ginny in an unspoken peace offering. She plucked the proffered apple from his hand and took a large bite out of it, humming in satisfaction.

“Mmm, tasty,” she mumbled through a mouthful of apple. She swallowed hard to clear her mouth before speaking again, “You’ve more than earned a break from all of the drama, Harry. It’s about time you started to think about what you want, about what makes you truly happy.”

Harry looked nervously at Ginny before declaring, “You make me happy.”

Ginny’s smile fell. “We’ve been over this, Harry…”

“I know we have, but…Ginny, you know that I love you,” he pleaded.

“I know you do,” she replied stiffly, staring at her feet. “And I love you, too. But that’s not enough.”

“Why not?” he implored. “I can do better. I can try harder. Just tell me what to do, Gin, and I’ll do it. What can I do to change your mind?”

“Nothing,” she replied firmly. Her shoulders sagged when she saw the despondent expression on Harry’s face and replied more gently, “Look, you didn’t do anything wrong, but you can’t change who you are.”

“I can try,” he argued weakly but Ginny snorted a derisive laugh.

“No spell or incantation can change your sexual preference, Harry.”

“I’m not gay!” he protested hotly. Ginny raised her eyebrows in surprise and Harry withered a little under her gaze. “At least, I don’t _think_ I am. Well, it’s not like I have any experience in that department to know for certain, have I?”

“While you might not necessarily be gay, I think based on our previous attempts...I think it’s safe to assume that we, at least, are not compatible,” she replied carefully. “There’s a difference between loving a person and being attracted to them.”

Harry groaned and buried his face in his hands, great waves of shame and confusion cascading over him at the memory of their fleeting and awkward sexual encounters. When they had briefly dated in his sixth year, they hadn’t done anything beyond kissing. That had suited Harry fine; he enjoyed Ginny’s company, and while he enjoyed kissing her—she was undoubtedly a great kisser—he had no real desire to do anything beyond that. He’d put it down to how stressful things had been at the time—they were on the brink of war, and he had the combined stress of exams and Dumbledore’s task to contend with. And of course, he had spent an inordinate amount of time tracking Malfoy throughout the castle, convinced that he was up to something nefarious. He felt a little bit embarrassed thinking back on it now, the amount of time wasted following that git instead of spending quality time with his girlfriend. _Well, I was right about him being up to something,_ he thought to himself. Vindication on this matter, however, brought him little comfort considering what had transpired on the Astronomy Tower.

With all of that to worry about, sex had been pretty low on his agenda. When they had rekindled their romance at the start of May, Ginny had been keen to progress their relationship to the next level. Harry, on the other hand, felt strangely reluctant to be more intimate with her. Ginny had been patient and understanding, but as the weeks went by, Harry’s feelings on the matter hadn’t changed and he had started to worry whether something was seriously wrong with him. Shouldn’t he want to be intimate with his girlfriend? Sex had been discussed and dissected obsessively in the dormitories during his time at Hogwarts, but Harry had never felt that ‘burning desire’ the other boys described for anyone, not even Ginny. He reasoned that he would feel it at some point; it was just going to take some time.

Finally, on a rare evening that Mr and Mrs Weasley were out at dinner and they had the house entirely to themselves, Harry had decided it was time to bite the bullet and take their relationship to the next level. Things started out well enough: lots of kissing and groping, all pleasant enough. He recalled in excruciating detail lying on Ginny’s bed in nothing but his boxers, his heart racing with nerves. Ginny had stood at the foot of the bed and peeled off her clothes to reveal herself to him for the first time. Straddling his hips, she had bit her lip nervously as he drank in the sight of her: light brown freckles smattered across her slim shoulders and soft, supple breasts. His eyes had migrated lower towards the soft bed of red curls between Ginny’s legs and—

And panic had struck him then. He had looked down at his boxers where his erection should have been and seen, to his horror, that everything remained quite dormant. Ginny had taken notice of this too and had frowned at him.

“Is everything okay?” she’d asked uncertainly.

“Uh, yeah. Just...give me a minute to warm up,” he’d said with a nervous laugh. But try as he might, he could not rise to the occasion that night. Ginny had been understandably disappointed but Harry had brushed it off simply as his nerves getting the better of him, sure that next time would be different. But it wasn’t. After their third failed attempt at intimacy, Ginny had sat Harry down for ‘a chat’ and asked him if he had something that he wanted to tell her.

“Not really,” he’d shrugged, unsure of where exactly this conversation was going. Ginny had taken his hand into her own, given it a reassuring squeeze and had suggested (ever-so-delicately) that while Harry might love Ginny, he might not be _in_ love with her.

“What’s the difference?” he’d asked obtusely.

“Well…Ron loves you, yes?”

Harry had frowned slightly. “Of course, he’s my best mate.”

“But he’s in love with Hermione.”

“Right.”

Ginny had waited patiently for the Galleon to drop. After a few more moments contemplating these words, Harry’s eyes had widened with shock at the sudden realisation at what Ginny was suggesting.

“Oh,” he had replied weakly. “Right.”

Despite Harry’s protestations, Ginny had ended their relationship that evening. She assured him that they were still friends but he hadn’t been overly keen to speak to her since the breakup. He was still embarrassed at what had happened and he felt irrationally annoyed at her for pointing out something about himself which was now glaringly obvious. That said, he was more annoyed at himself for leaving it to Ginny to point it out to him rather than coming to this realisation about his sexuality himself.

“It’s nothing that you should worry about,” Ginny reassured him, snapping Harry out of his miserable revery. “People don’t wake up one day and decide one way or the other if they’re gay or straight or asexual—”

“Asexual?” Harry cut in, looking slightly alarmed. “Christ, I don’t even know what that is!”

“Asexuality is the lack of sexual attraction to others or low or absent desire for sexual activity,” she explained. “I’m not really an expert on the subject, if I’m honest. I’ll get Hermione to dig out a book for you that explains it better than I can.”

Harry snorted. “I’d rather you didn’t!”

Ginny frowned. “Why not?”

“I’m not talking to Hermione about...this,” he muttered, his cheeks turning as red as the Braeburns. Ginny raised a sceptical eyebrow at him.

“You’d rather talk to Ron about it?” she challenged.

“Not really,” he admitted. “I think it’s best if we just don’t talk about it again. Ever.”

Ginny burst out laughing and Harry drew her an incredulous look.

“This isn’t funny!” he snapped.

“No, but _you_ are,” she countered. “Being gay isn’t a big deal.”

“It isn’t?” he asked cautiously and Ginny frowned at him.

“No, not in the Wizarding world, at least,” she replied slowly. “Is it a problem in the Muggle world?”

“That would be putting it mildly,” he muttered. “I mean, it’s better than it used to be, I suppose. It’s not illegal anymore, at least…”

“What was illegal?” she asked, looking horrified. “Being gay?” Harry nodded and Ginny’s expression transformed from one of shock into anger. “That’s ridiculous! What difference does it make who you love?”

“Dunno,” said Harry glumly. “Suppose it’s like purebloods who don’t want to marry Muggle-borns, or in America where Muggles can’t marry wizards. They think it’s abnormal.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that,” said Ginny quietly. “Rapport’s Law, or something…so, gay Muggles can’t get married, either?”

“Nope.”

Ginny screwed her nose up in disgust. “I know my dad thinks Muggles are fascinating but the more I learn about them, the more I dislike them.”

“They’re not all bad,” Harry argued.

Harry couldn’t immediately recall meeting any Muggles that he had particularly liked and Ginny didn’t look entirely convinced at this assurance but she decided to drop the subject.

“Look, I’m not going to push you on this,” she sighed. “Working out your sexual identity doesn’t happen overnight; it’s something that you need to work out for yourself, at your own pace. But I really think you should talk to someone about it—Ron or Hermione, or me if you really want to. I could write to Charlie, if you’d like? He’ll be able to tell you more than I can.”

Harry’s eyes widened with shock. “Charlie’s gay?”

“Uh, yeah,” she chuckled. “Who do you think that dishy blonde bloke he brought to Bill and Fleur’s wedding was?”

“I dunno, I just assumed that it was a friend that he worked with in Romania.”

Ginny shook her head despairingly at him, but she was still smiling. “Oh Harry…”

“Why are you out here looking for me, anyway?” he asked, keen to change the subject.

“HARRY! GINNY!” cried Mrs Weasley’s voice. Ginny’s head snapped towards her mother’s voice and she jumped to her feet.

“Merlin, I forgot—once I found you, I was supposed to bring you back to the house,” she said, brushing grass from her legs. “We’re going to Diagon Alley today to get my school supplies. Are you coming with us?”

“Suppose I’ll need to,” he said reluctantly, slipping his socks and trainers back on and rising to his feet. He peeled his t-shirt off of his back when he realized that it was so sodden in sweat that it clung uncomfortably to his skin. He wasn’t looking forward to wearing his school robes in this heat.

Ginny grabbed his arm and pulled him in the direction of the Burrow. “Come on, they’ll be waiting for us.”

As they made their way up the garden path, they saw Mrs Weasley waiting for them at the back door. Harry felt a pang of guilt at the worry etched on her face which only eased as she caught sight of them. Mrs Weasley had always been protective of her children, but her anxiety had reached new heights since Fred had died. She had even reverted back to carrying the Weasley clock around with her everywhere she went, constantly monitoring the well-being of her family. Harry had overheard Mr Weasley talking to her about it a few nights previously, saying that carrying the clock everywhere was an unhealthy coping mechanism. Harry, however, could empathise with how she must feel. He had often thought if he’d owned a similar clock with Sirius’ name on it, things might have turned out quite differently.

“Where on earth have you two been?” called Mrs Weasley as they approached, worriedly wringing a tea towel in her hands. “I was about to send out a search party!”

Ginny rolled her eyes and stepped past her mother into the small kitchen. Harry made to follow her but Mrs Weasley grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him to face her.

“Are you alright, Harry dear?” she asked, brushing his messy hair out of his face and giving him a thorough once-over.

“I’m fine,” he replied a little testily. While he appreciated Mrs Weasley caring for his well-being, he wasn’t accustomed to being molly-coddled.

“Are you sure? You had me worried,” she said, her voice a little strained. “Your hand on the clock moved to ‘Lost’ and I thought—”

“We were only in the orchard,” Ginny assured her, tugging Harry free from her mother’s grasp. “We were perfectly safe.”

Ginny sat down at the kitchen table next to Ron and Harry took the empty chair across from her. The family clock sat on the kitchen counter and Mrs Weasley scrutinised it closely.

“But I thought it said...maybe I misread it,” she muttered quietly to herself. Harry watched as the hands with his and Ginny’s faces shifted from ‘In-Transit’ to ‘Home’. He still got a pleasant feeling bubbling at the centre of his chest every time he laid eyes on the clock and saw his face alongside the other Weasleys, but the happiness was immediately marred with sadness at the absence of Fred’s name on the clock. He had always seen the Weasley clan like the family he never had, but when they had added his own hand to the clock, it had meant more to him than he could express in words. They were no longer _like_ his family, they _were_ his family.

“What were you two doing in the orchard?” asked Ron suspiciously. He had a plateful of sandwiches in front of him while Hermione sat to his right, perusing over what looked like their school supply list for the year.

“Nothing,” Ginny replied evasively, snatching one of the sandwiches from Ron’s plate. Ron glanced between Ginny and Harry and a knowing smile spread across his face.

“A likely story,” he chuckled, taking a large bite from his bacon sandwich. Ginny shot him a dirty look and Harry concentrated on pouring himself a drink from the large decanter at the centre of the table, ignoring the insinuation in Ron’s comment. Ron seemed to have convinced himself that his best friend and sister were merely going through a rough patch in their relationship and that they would eventually work things out and get back together. As much as Harry would like that to be the case, he knew that was about as likely as the Chudley Cannons winning the league.

“Have you had anything to eat today, Harry?” asked Mrs Weasley.

“Yes, Mrs Weasley,” he replied. It wasn’t entirely a lie (he had eaten the apple in the orchard) but Mrs Weasley shook her head and drew her wand.

“Well, clearly you’re not eating enough. You’re practically skin and bones! We’ll get you fed before we go shopping.”

“I’m not hungry,” he protested half-heartedly, but a fresh plateful of bacon and egg sandwiches fashioned into a small pyramid was already soaring past Ron and Hermione’s heads, landing with a clatter in front of Harry. One of the sandwiches fell off of the overfilled plate onto the table, which Ron swiftly snatched up before taking a bite out of it.

“Five-second rule, mate,” he smirked through a mouthful of food. Hermione tsked at her boyfriend's atrocious table manners but said nothing, instead turning her attention back to the school list.

“It’s a rather unusual selection of books this year,” she mused.

“Yes, there’s a few there I haven’t heard of before,” said Mrs Weasley, looking over Hermione’s shoulder at the list. “Austen, Orwell, Shelley...who are these people?”

“They’re all Muggle authors,” Hermione answered, sounding impressed. “I must admit, I had some trepidations when I read about the new Muggle Studies professor, but if this reading list is anything to go by, we might be in for a treat this year!”

“A treat?” Ron snorted. “Look at the number of books she’s assigned us! That’s more than our other subjects combined!”

“No, it isn't!” she argued, pointing at the list. “These six texts are the core reading list for the year and everything else is supplementary. You don’t necessarily have to read these other books—”

“Good, I won’t be bothering with them, then,” he muttered, turning his attention back to his sandwiches.

“But if you want to have a more in-depth knowledge of the subject, then you really should read them,” she argued, folding the list in half and slipping it into her shirt pocket. “Well, I’ll be buying everything on the list, just in case.”

“Of course you will,” Ron teased. “So, will you be letting Harry and I copy your homework this year?”

Hermione let out a dry laugh. “Certainly not! I think it’s about time you two learned to study on your own.”

“But it’s practically a tradition!” Ron protested. “You make lesson plans for each of us, Harry and I ignore ours, we let all of our homework pile up and try to catch up at the last minute, then you go over our work and fix everything that we got wrong. It’s how we’ve always done it!”

“Not this year,” said Hermione lightly, taking a sip from her glass of orange juice.

“Come on, Hermione,” Ron begged. “You know that Harry and I are crap at studying!”

“Speak for yourself,” said Harry defensively, although he couldn’t really disagree with Ron. Harry’s strength was practical demonstrations, while written assessments had always been Hermione’s forte.

“But what if we fail?” Ron argued. “Do you really want that hanging over your head?”

“Not my problem,” she shrugged. “If I’m going to have any chance of achieving eight N.E.W.T.S. then I’m afraid that I’m going to be much too busy to help either of you this year. Maybe Ginny will be kind enough to help you out?”

Ginny snorted, “Sorry lads, you’re on your own.”

“Less chatting and more eating!” said Mrs Weasley briskly, stuffing the family clock into her oversized handbag. “We’re running late as it is.”

Once everyone had finished their lunch, Mrs Weasley hurried them over to the fireplace.

“We’re running behind schedule today, so once we’ve been to the bank we’ll have to split up if we want to get everything done in time before the shops close,” she said. “Boys, you get the books from Flourish and Blotts and pick up supplies from Slug and Jiggers. Here’s a list of everything you’ll need. Hermione, Ginny and I will go to Muggle London to pick up the rest of your books.”

“What about our school robes?” asked Ginny.

“And our Quidditch gear?” Ron chipped in.

“Go get measured for your robes after you’ve grabbed everything else,” Mrs Weasley instructed. “We’ll meet back at the Leaky Cauldron at five o’clock. Harry, if you get lost or trapped Flooing this time—”

“I’ll be fine,” Harry grumbled, snatching up a handful of Floo powder from the flowerpot on the mantelpiece. Ron and Ginny made no attempt to stifle their snickers and Harry glared at the pair. “It was _one time_ I went to the wrong grate! One time and it was _years_ ago! Merlin, will I ever live it down?”

“Nope,” said Ginny lightly, smiling broadly at him.

Harry sighed and stepped into the fireplace, resigned to the fact that as an adopted Weasley he was fair game to any and all jokes from his family. Tossing the Floo powder into the grate, he made sure to cry “Diagon Alley!” clearly this time before he was pulled forward and the Burrow’s living room disappeared in a whirl of emerald green flames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More beautiful artwork by [lomichelotti ](https://www.fiverr.com/lomichelotti/draw-your-oc-or-fanart?source=order_page_summary_gig_link_title&funnel=a3ba790e-1a0a-47bf-8b82-3bff4753e3ba)


	5. Chapter 5

There weren’t many things that Harry missed about the Muggle world. He’d grown up feeling like he never really fit in there: not with the Dursleys, not at school, or anywhere. In his earliest memories, Harry had always felt, and had always been, alone. So when Hagrid had appeared one stormy night shortly after his eleventh birthday and whisked him away to the magical world, despite everything being new and strange, for the first time in Harry’s life he felt that he truly belonged. Once he stepped through the threshold from the Muggle world into Diagon Alley, he had never looked back.

No, he couldn’t think of anything that he missed from the Muggle world. Nothing, except the anonymity. Going from living an almost invisible existence to suddenly being the most recognised face in every room he entered had been a shock to the system and it was something that Harry had never quite grown accustomed to. If he thought that he was famous before the war, it was nothing compared to the level of near-hysteria that followed him everywhere that he went now. It was another reason that he had seldom ventured beyond the boundaries of The Burrow all summer except for official engagements. Everywhere that he went, reporters and groups of ‘fans’ lay in wait for him. Harry didn’t know how they always seemed to know where he was going to be, but their pursuit of him had been relentless, and they were the main reason that he had been so reluctant to venture out to Diagon Alley for his school supplies. Today, however, Harry wasn’t going to let anyone deter him from a day out with his friends and family. Today, Harry came prepared.

Stepping out of the fireplace into the Leaky Cauldron, Harry was greeted by a stooped, bald man who gave him a wide, toothless grin.

“Pleasure to see you again, Mr Potter!” Tom, the pub’s wizened barman, greeted Harry cheerfully, holding his hand out to him. Harry took the proffered hand and gave it a firm shake.

“Pleasure’s all mine, Tom,” he replied, smiling warmly at the old innkeeper. “Thanks again for letting us Floo into your kitchen.”

“No problem at all!” Tom assured him, ushering Harry away from the fireplace. “I can only imagine how difficult it must be for you, travelling about without an entourage of reporters and well-wishers on your tail.”

“Yeah, it’s quite annoying, actually,” he admitted. Tom chuckled.

“Well, it’s a good thing that you arranged to Floo into my private quarters. There are two reporters sitting at the bar right now.”

Harry grimaced. “Seriously? How long have they been here?”

Tom shrugged. “A few weeks. They’ve been taking it in shifts, see, waiting day and night, hoping that they might catch a glimpse of you. I suppose they heard that you’ve spent time here in the past. Not that I’m complaining mind; so long as they pay for their drinks and don’t bother the other patrons, they can sit and wait for as long as they like. I figured if I tried to coax them into leaving the pub today, that might arouse suspicion.”

“Makes sense,” said Harry with a wry smirk. “We wouldn’t want to interrupt them if they’re enjoying their pints, would we?”

Tom chuckled and winked at him. “Certainly not, Mr Potter.”

It amused him to no end thinking about the reporters sitting anxiously waiting to see him and knowing full well that wouldn’t be happening, not today at least. And if Tom got some business out of it, then all the better. The fireplace erupted in green flames and Ginny stepped into the small kitchen, flashing Tom a brilliant smile. She was closely followed by Ron, Hermione, and finally, Mrs Weasley.

“Is this everyone?” asked Tom brightly. “Excellent. Follow me…”

Tom led Harry and the others out of the side exit, bypassing the bar completely, to the small, walled courtyard where the entrance to Diagon Alley was hidden. Harry pulled his Invisibility Cloak out of his backpack and slipped it over his head. Once Harry was hidden from view, Mrs Weasley tapped the wall three times with the tip of her wand and an archway into Diagon Alley slowly began to take shape.

“Will you be coming back here after your shopping trip?” Tom called after them.

“Yes, if you don’t mind us leaving the same way that we arrived?” Mrs Weasley inquired.

“Not at all, Madam. I’ll have supper waiting for you upon your return. Free of charge, of course,” he said, winking at the empty space where Harry stood. “It’s the least I could do, after everything you’ve done for us.”

Tom waved goodbye to them as the group set off down the twisting cobbled street, bustling with shoppers who were enjoying the summer sun. Harry had grown adept at dodging people over the years so he wound his way easily through the thronging crowds without being detected. As they approached the burnished bronze doors of Gringotts Bank, he noticed that two goblins stood sentry, each holding gold spears. They bowed Mrs Weasley and Ginny through the silver doors into the main entrance of the bank but quickly straightened as Hermione and Ron (and, unbeknownst to them, Harry) walked past. Ron frowned as he passed the goblin guards.

“How come you get a bow and I don’t?” he asked Ginny accusingly.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she replied sarcastically. “Maybe it has something to do with you three breaking in and stealing treasure and a great bloody dragon from them?”

“Oh yeah,” said Ron slowly. “I’d forgotten about that.”

“It was only four months ago!”

“Yeah, well....a lot’s happened since then, hasn’t it?” he shrugged.

The guards weren’t the only ones to give Hermione and Ron an unwelcome reception. As they made their way down the vast marble hall, every goblin that caught sight of them glared at the pair. Hermione stepped closer to Ron and whispered, “They don’t look very happy to see us, do they?”

“I don’t see why!” he grumbled. “We helped get rid of Voldemort, didn’t we? You’d think that they’d be grateful!”

“Evidently not,” Harry muttered. Although he hadn’t paid too much attention in his History of Magic lessons, he knew well enough that relations between goblins and wizards were tentative at best. He doubted their recent antics at the bank would have endeared them much to the goblin community.

The group made their way down the hall, passing two long counters on either side where numerous goblins sat on stools, scribbling in ledgers and weighing precious jewels. It was only when they reached the opposite end of the hall and approached one of the free goblins that Harry finally removed his cloak. As soon as he whipped it off, the goblin did a double take at his sudden appearance. Upon seeing the scar on his forehead, the goblin’s eyes narrowed.

“You!” he hissed. His beetle-black eyes darted between Harry, Ron and Hermione. “The three of you! What are you doing here?”

“Afternoon. Umm…” Harry hesitantly pulled out the small gold key for his vault and slid it across the table towards the goblin. “I’d like to make a withdrawal, please.”

The goblin drew him a withering look, “It wasn’t so long ago that you three committed innumerable crimes against this bank: breaking and entering! Identity theft! Thievery!”

“Well, it was a life or death situation…” Ron muttered.

“Destruction of property!” the goblin continued furiously. “And the loss of an incredibly valuable Ukrainian Ironbelly. The list goes on! Yet you saw fit to stroll in here as though none of that happened and request to make a withdrawal?”

“Uh, yes. Sorry about all of that,” Harry laughed nervously. A long pause followed. “So...about making that withdrawal…”

The goblin clicked his long fingers and several armed goblins approached, the tips of their golden spears pointed at the trio. Harry instinctively reached for his wand, but Hermione grabbed his arm and shook her head.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” she warned in a low voice. Reluctantly, Harry withdrew his hand from his robes and raised them into the air. This wasn’t a great start to his incognito shopping trip.

“What is the meaning of this?” cried Mrs Weasley, stepping between the trio and the goblins’ spears. “Is this how you treat all of your customers?”

“These three,” said the goblin, pointing accusingly at Harry, Ron and Hermione, “are not welcome here!”

“These three helped save your bloody bank from You-Know-Who and his lot!” she shouted.

The goblin gave a derisive laugh. “By destroying half of it in the process?”

Harry and everyone else in the marble hall watched in stunned silence as Mrs Weasley proceeded to have a heated argument with the goblin, each gesticulating wildly as their voices rose higher and higher. Even Ginny, whose fiery temper was the stuff of legend, stood quietly as her mother made perfectly clear how despicable she thought the bank was treating her children. After Mrs Weasley threatened to close the family vault, the goblin grudgingly conceded and said that Harry, Ron and Hermione would be permitted to make a withdrawal from the bank, but not without taking ‘extra precautions’ to ensure that there was not a repeat of what had happened the last time. The trio agreed to the terms, desperate to get this visit to the bank over with as quickly as possible.

The ‘extra precautions’, much to Hermione’s horror, came in the form of a large security troll flanked by several armoured goblins who were to accompany them to each of their vaults. Hermione and Ron took the cart at the front, followed by Ginny and Mrs Weasley in the next. Unfortunately for Harry, with no one else to accompany him, was forced to share the final cart with the security troll. He tried leaning over the edge of the cart in a vain effort to put distance between himself and the foul beast, which smelled like one of the public toilets at the Quidditch World Cup. The troll glared down at Harry and snarled, roughly pulling him back into his seat as they hurtled through the winding tunnels of Gringotts. Harry tried bunching his t-shirt up to cover his face to block out the stench, but it made little difference. Resigning himself to his suffering, Harry sunk back into his seat, defeated. Surely his day couldn’t get any worse than this.

After their visit to the bank, the group went their separate ways: Mrs Weasley, Hermione and Ginny headed for Muggle London, while Harry (safely hidden back under his Invisibility Cloak again) and Ron wandered in the direction of Slug and Jiggers Apothecary.

“I’ll never get used to talking to you hidden under that cloak,” whispered Ron out of the corner of his mouth. “Folk are staring at me chatting to myself. They must think I’m mental.”

“Nobody thinks you’re mental. They’re staring at you because you’re Ron Weasley, the war hero,” Harry countered. An uncertain but hopeful smile teased Ron’s lips.

“Yeah?” he asked. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” Harry assured him, smiling to himself. As much as Harry hated being famous, he couldn’t begrudge Ron enjoying his newfound fame. At least one of them should be able to enjoy it.

They came to a stop a few meters away from the Apothecary and Harry groaned. Several journalists and photographers were standing outside the shop looking around impatiently for someone—looking for Harry. Ron turned around and began heading back up the cobbled street.

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll just go to Flourish and Blotts first and get the potions supplies later,” he said. This plan, however, was also scuppered as several more journalists stood outside of the bookshop. There were so many of them that disgruntled customers had to push them out of the way when entering and leaving the shop.

“How am I supposed to get past that lot?” Harry hissed in Ron’s ear. Ron rubbed his chin thoughtfully for a moment, then he grinned.

“I have an idea,” he began slowly. “How about I go and distract them? I’ll get the books and the potions supplies while you go to Madam Malkin’s? It means I’ll need to put up with them following me about for a bit, but at least you can go and get your robes fitted in peace.”

Harry was glad that he was invisible because he couldn’t help the amused grin that spread across his face at this suggestion. “Yeah, that’ll work. You’re sure you don’t mind?”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Ron assured him, checking his reflection in a nearby shop window. “I mean, seeing me isn’t as good as seeing you of course…”

“It’s as good as,” Harry disagreed. “Thanks for taking one for the team, mate.”

“Any time,” said Ron, striding in the direction of the photographers.

Harry snorted as Ron waved to the reporters and was quickly swarmed by them. He made his way further down Diagon Alley in the direction of Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions but stopped dead in his tracks when he saw, yet again, several more journalists lingering outside the shop entrance. He cursed so loudly that a passing woman screamed in fright at the angry, disembodied voice and dropped her shopping bags. A couple of shoppers stopped to help the poor woman pick up her scattered belongings while Harry marched back up the road in a foul mood. Everywhere he turned he met resistance in the form of disgruntled goblins, trolls and reporters. He just wanted to buy his school things in peace for Merlin’s sake, and they wouldn’t even let him do that.

He couldn’t reach Ron with all the journalists following him around and he had no clue where in Muggle London the girls had gone. He considered heading back to the Leaky Cauldron and hiding out in Tom’s kitchen until the others returned, but the one thing that he really needed, that he could not purchase by owl, was his school robes. Scanning up and down the busy street for inspiration, his eyes lingered on Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, its bright orange signage easily discernible at the top of the street. Hadn’t George mentioned getting his swanky dragonhide suit from some posh clothes shop on Diagon Alley? Twittings, or something? Harry remembered him saying it was on the south side of Diagon Alley, close to the Owl Emporium. Casting one last look in the direction of Madam Malkin’s, Harry turned and headed in the direction of the Emporium, keeping his eyes peeled for other robes shop on route.

When Harry saw Eeylops Owl Emporium, he paused outside the shop window to admire the many birds on display. Scops, barn and eagle owls sat snoozing in their cages. A large grey owl opened an eye and stared sleepily at Harry for a moment before closing it again and hiding its face beneath its wing. There were even a couple snowy owls for sale that looked a little like Hedwig. Thinking about her made the empty feeling in the pit of Harry’s stomach spread; it was a cold and sickly feeling, so he turned away from the shop window. He knew that it would be worthwhile getting another owl as they were useful to have, but Harry felt an irrational rush of anger at the thought of replacing Hedwig. No, he wouldn’t be getting a new owl, now or ever.

He hadn’t really considered getting another pet, but he wasn’t completely opposed to the idea, either. Maybe he ought to have a look in the Magical Menagerie after he had his robes fitted? He didn’t have a particular fondness for rats for obvious reasons, and he didn’t think Crookshanks would appreciate the company of another feline in Gryffindor Tower. Maybe he could go see George about getting a pygmy puff? It might be a good talking point with Ginny. _Not a good enough reason to adopt it as a pet,_ he reasoned. He could always get a toad...but considering the trouble that Neville had with Trevor, he didn’t fancy a pet that went missing constantly. He wasn’t sure what he’d buy, if anything. He’d need to think about it.

Moving away from the Emporium, Harry’s eyes fell on the next shop window, and his intended destination: Twilfitt and Tattings. The exterior was unremarkable in appearance, a whitewash stone building with a plain wooden door. If he hadn’t been looking for it, he probably would have walked past the shop without a second glance. The display in the shop window, however, was another story altogether: an array of top hats in a variety of colours and materials sat atop a variety of wooden mannequin heads, each of them smiling and winking enticingly at Harry. This looked like the sort of place that wealthy wizards like the Malfoys would buy their clothes. While Harry would have been more than happy purchasing his robes from Madam Malkin as he had always done, he wasn’t keen to face off against the reporters. Glancing up and down the street to make sure the coast was clear, he slipped off his Invisibility Cloak and stuffed it into his backpack before entering the shop.

The doorbell tinkled and Harry quickly closed the shop door behind him, taking in his new and unfamiliar surroundings. The interior was not unlike the many bespoke tailors that one would find on Savile Row in Muggle London, only in place of three-piece suits were robes of the finest silk and pointed wizard’s hats with silver and gold buckles. Harry felt rather underdressed standing next to such fine wear in his grass-stained shorts and t-shirt. He caught sight of his reflection in one of the nearby mirrors and tried in vain to flatten his messy hair but quickly dropped his hand by his side when he heard hurried footsteps approach.

The curtains at the rear of the shop flew open and a tall man in impeccably tailored charcoal grey robes swept towards Harry. His appearance was as striking as it was strange, for he appeared to be entirely monochrome: his grey hair was styled in a hard side parting paired with a pencil moustache (also grey) and his eyes, like cold steel, surveyed Harry’s appearance with reservation. Even his skin seemed to have a grey quality to it and Harry was reminded of Count Orlok from the film ‘Nosferatu’.

“May I help you, sir?” he drawled, standing with his hands behind his back. Harry pulled his backpack higher up on his shoulder and stammered.

“Yeah, I um...I need to buy some robes.”

The corner of the man’s mouth twitched but he kept his expression impassive. “Indeed sir, then you have come to the right place. Do you require a particular style of robe? Something casual, or light for the summer? Perhaps dress robes for a special occasion?”

“No, nothing like that,” Harry objected, shaking his head. “I’m going back to Hogwarts this year and I just need a set of plain school robes.”

“Ah...yes, I can certainly help you with that. Right this way, sir.” The man nodded his head in the direction of the curtain and Harry followed him through to the back of the shop. “If you don’t mind waiting a few minutes, I’m just fitting another gentleman for his school robes at the moment.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Harry agreed.

He rounded the corner and came to a stop when he caught sight of who the other customer was. Standing in front of the three-panel dressing mirror was a tall figure with white-blonde hair and a bored expression on his pale face. Draco Malfoy was wearing, to Harry’s shock, a brand new set of Hogwarts robes, glittering with pins around the hem and the edges of the sleeves.

“What are you doing here?” Harry blurted out without thinking.

Draco stiffened at the sound of Harry’s voice. When he caught sight of Harry’s reflection in the mirror, his light grey eyes momentarily widened with panic before he quickly schooled his expression into its usual sneer.

“Standing in front of the mirror admiring my reflection for the hell of it, Potter. What does it look like?” he bit back.

“It looks like you’re getting a new set of Hogwarts robes, but my eyes must be deceiving me because there’s no way you’re ballsy enough to go back this year. Not after everything that’s happened.”

“Well, thankfully you don’t run the school, even though you like to act as if you do!” Draco snapped.

The tailor eyed the pair’s heated exchange with interest. “I take that you gentlemen know each other?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Harry replied.

“No,” Draco lied.

The two men looked daggers at each other, each incensed to see the other. The tailor cleared his throat and interrupted their glaring contest, beckoning Harry towards an identical set of three-panel dressing mirrors to Harry’s left.

“Right. Well, if you could please stand on the stool, sir,” he instructed politely but firmly.

Harry hesitated. He didn’t want to spend any more time than necessary in Draco’s company, but he was even more reluctant to face off against the gaggle of reporters that waited for him at Madam Malkin’s. Harry concluded that he could just about manage to occupy the same space as his old enemy: Draco was, by a very slim margin, the lesser of two evils. Reluctantly, he dropped his backpack at his feet and stood on the free stool, facing the mirrors which were placed directly behind Draco’s so that no matter where either of them looked, they couldn’t avoid seeing each other.

“Excellent. Now, if you could please raise your arms, I can begin taking provisional measurements,” the tailor explained.

Harry did as he was instructed and raised his arms either side of him, posing like a scarecrow. The tailor drew his wand and gave it a slight flick. A small gasp escaped Harry’s lips at the sudden appearance of several measuring tapes floating above his head. He watched with interest as they uncoiled themselves like white snakes and proceeded to take measurements, slithering along his arms, legs, waist and collar. Several lengths of black cloth and a box of silver pins then flew out of a nearby drawer and began pinning themselves to Harry’s body. He couldn’t help but smile to himself at the elegant dance of fabric, tape and pins floating around him as they constructed a basic outfit; no matter how mundane, he would forever be enchanted by magic in all its forms.

“I’ll be with you in a moment,” the tailor said to Harry before kneeling at Draco’s side. “I’m just putting the finishing touches to this gentleman’s order.”

Trying his best to ignore Draco, Harry distracted himself by watching the pins and fabric set to work and slowly a set of long, black school robes began to take shape. He couldn’t help but notice Draco’s eyes darting up to look at him, narrowing, then flitting back down at his own feet.

“How much longer is this going to take?” Draco mumbled.

“Not much longer, sir,” the tailor assured him, pinching the fabric around the sleeves. “Just a few more minor adjustments…”

The shop doorbell tinkled again and the tailor paused in his work. Rising to his feet, he brushed the front of his robes flat and bowed to Draco.

“Apologies for the interruption, sir, I shall quickly see to this customer’s needs and I will be right back,” he simpered. Ignoring Draco’s mutterings about ‘slow service’, the tailor nodded to Harry as he disappeared behind the velvet curtains and out of sight, leaving him and Draco alone.

An incredibly awkward silence followed as neither Harry nor Draco wanted to acknowledge the other, while at the same time taking several furtive glances at each other’s reflections and then quickly turning away whenever one managed to catch the other’s eye. It was the first time that they had seen each other since the Battle of Hogwarts. Harry remembered seeing Draco sitting with his parents in the Great Hall after the battle, looking uncertain as to whether he should even be there. He had the same uneasy expression on his face at the moment, like he was about to turn tail and run out of the shop with the unfinished garment still attached to him. Harry wished that he would, as it would bring a swift end to this most unwelcome reunion. He rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the cramp from keeping his arms aloft for so long. Merlin, what was taking so long?

The seconds dragged by at a torturously slow speed, but Draco made no attempt to leave, much to Harry’s disappointment. He watched as Draco fidgeted with his sleeves, his expression set in a deep frown as though he were experiencing a great deal of discomfort. Harry knew exactly how he felt: his arms were beginning to ache and he was hot and stuffy in his robes. He had to resist the overwhelming urge to tear them off and make a run for it himself. He kept glancing at Draco, the same question repeating over and over again in his mind until he couldn’t help himself from asking, “Are you serious about going back to Hogwarts this year?”

“Evidently,” Draco replied shortly, keeping his eyes fixed on his feet.

“Why?” Harry pressed on. The frown on Draco’s face deepened.

“What’s it to you?” he spat.

“Nothing,” Harry muttered, trying to sound like he didn’t really care. “I just don’t fancy having to put up with you for another year.”

Draco’s head snapped up and he opened his mouth, a vicious retort on his lips, but he paused before saying anything. A calculating expression spread across his face that made Harry feel uneasy. What was he going to do?

“Why are you going back to Hogwarts, if you don’t mind me asking?” Draco inquired.

“I do mind, as a matter of fact,” Harry replied coolly.

Draco raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “Deary me, Potter, I was only trying to make polite conversation.”

Harry snorted. “That’ll be a first.”

“I thought that you’d be joining the Ministry,” Draco drawled, sounding not unlike his father. “Hogwarts is so isolated from the rest of the Wizarding community; McGonagall won’t permit you to give those daily press briefings you’ve become so accustomed to.”

“They’re not press briefings, Malfoy. Journalists just follow me everywhere that I go and make up things about me to suit their stories,” said Harry defensively. “How do you think I ended up in here in the first place?”

Draco pouted and simpered, “Poor Potter, it must be a real burden being so popular. How do you cope?”

“How do I cope with your stupid remarks?” he sneered. “With difficulty.”

Instead of being affronted, Draco looked pleased. Evidently, this was just the reaction he wanted from Harry.

“I’m surprised to see you in here, Potter,” he continued in a light, conversational tone. Harry suppressed the urge to groan in exasperation. He knew that he shouldn’t ask, that he should just ignore Draco altogether...

“Why?” he asked stiffly.

Draco gave a careless shrug.

“Given what you usually wear…” He cast a disparaging look at the summer Muggle attire Harry was wearing. “This establishment seems a bit upmarket for your usual tastes. I thought you’d be across the road at Second-Hand Robes with Weasley.”

“For once in your life, do what’s good for you and keep your mouth shut, Malfoy,” Harry snarled through clenched teeth.

“Merlin, you’ve gotten quite sensitive of late, haven’t you?” he teased. “Still smarting from the Weaslette dumping you?”

Hot anger flared up inside of Harry at the taunt. He turned to face Draco and snarled, “Shut up!”

“Make me,” Draco dared him.

Harry’s fingers twitched but he resisted the temptation to reach for his wand. The last thing he needed was to be caught duelling Draco Malfoy of all people in a clothes shop, and he’d already promised himself that he was going to try and keep out of trouble this year. The dance of measuring tapes, pins and fabric finally came to a halt and Harry was able to lower his sore arms by his sides.

“You’re in no position to be making fun of anyone,” Harry reminded him coolly. “Your name and your reputation are in the gutter. Your father is too ashamed to even show his face in public anymore and after everything that happened, I’m surprised that you can. Despite everything that’s happened, you haven’t changed a bit. You’re so insecure that you’ve spent years making fun of me and my friends, just to make yourself feel better, so the only joke here is you.”

Draco wasn't smiling anymore. He slowly turned to face Harry, looking him up and down as though sizing him up. Harry braced himself in case he needed to grab his wand...so much for staying out of trouble.

“You’re right: unlike you, I don’t have many friends or allies,” Draco admitted quietly. “Most Slytherins don’t.”

“And even fewer Death Eaters,” Harry sneered.

“True,” Draco agreed, keeping his tone even. “I must learn to accept that my reputation is in the dirt. My family name is in ruins. Despite remaining considerably wealthy, it seems unlikely that we will be able to buy our way back into high society’s favour this time around. But it may have escaped your notice, Potter, that I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks about me. Most people didn’t like me before the war anyway, so what difference does it make if they’ve got the balls to say it to my face now instead of behind my back?”

Harry said nothing. He was a little taken aback by the sincerity of his words; it was probably the first time he had ever heard Draco speak without any form of pomp or pretence and, against his better judgement, he was interested to hear what else he had to say.

“I am many things, Potter, but I am not stupid: I know that going back to Hogwarts this year is going to be...difficult. I’m a social pariah, and I fully anticipate being harassed and avoided by almost everyone in the student body. Even amongst those in my own house, my return won’t be a welcome one. While I might not have much going for me, there is one thing that I have that no one can take away from me, a particular skill in my arsenal, something that will sustain me no matter how difficult this year will inevitably be.”

“And what’s that?” Harry asked curiously. A satisfied smirk spread across Draco’s face.

“That even now—despite everything that has happened between us—I can still get under your skin.”

Before Harry could muster a response to that taunt, the curtains flew open and the tailor strode back into the room, looking flustered.

“Apologies again for the delay, gentlemen. It is a very busy time of year,” he sighed, moving back over to Draco’s side. Harry glared at Draco’s smug expression in the mirror, trying to think of a clever retort but drawing a blank.

True to his word, the tailor finished Draco’s robes within a matter of minutes. He carefully removed the robes and draped them over his arm. Draco stepped off of the stool, an amused grin still plastered to his face.

“I’ll have these along with your other purchases delivered to you no later than this evening,” the tailor assured him and Draco nodded appreciatively.

“Thank you, Douglas. A pleasure as always,” he turned to leave and as he disappeared through the velvet curtains he said silkily, “See you at school, Potter.”

After Draco’s departure, no other customers came into the shop and Douglas the tailor was able to spend the rest of the time constructing Harry’s robes. He took a little longer than Madam Malkin normally would, but Harry couldn’t deny that the man had a talent for making normally shapeless robes fit in all the right places. Harry twisted and turned, admiring the expensive-looking outfit from all angles. He wasn’t one to waste much time on his personal appearance, but these made him feel…nice.

“You approve?” asked the tailor. Harry nodded vigorously.

“Yeah, these look...great, actually. Thank you.”

The tailor looked pleased at the compliment. “My pleasure, sir. I’ll have these wrapped up for you.”

Before leaving, Harry bought a few sets of casual robes in a variety of colours and materials, much to the delight of Douglas, who threw in a dragon-leather belt for free as “A small thank you for your generous custom.” It was the first time Harry had ever bought clothes for himself simply because he liked them. He even considered going into Muggle London to get some more clothes before heading back to Hogwarts and he wondered if Ginny or Hermione would want to go with him.

On his way to the Magical Menagerie, he stopped by Quality Quidditch Supplies for a look at the broomsticks. He’d lost his precious Firebolt during his escape from Privet Drive the previous year and now the only gift from Sirius that he still possessed was the broken piece of mirror that he still kept in the mokeskin pouch around his neck. He didn’t really need to the pouch anymore but he continued to wear it more out of habit, packed with a few essentials in case he ever needed to make a quick getaway.

Losing his old broom had been a crushing blow, more for its sentimental value than its actual cost, but he thought that Sirius would want him to keep up the flying, so he made a mental note to order a new Firebolt and have it delivered straight to the Burrow. His eyes scanned over the Firebolt displayed in the shop window to the one below it. The Nimbus 2001 was a fine-looking broomstick, a highly polished black body with silver revolving stirrups. Harry glared at the innocuous object, which had done nothing to offend Harry other than it immediately reminded Harry of Draco Malfoy.

 _Draco fucking Malfoy,_ he thought irritably. Clearly, despite everything that had happened, Draco hadn’t changed one bit. He was the same pompous git who delighted in getting a rise out of Harry at every opportunity. He thought back to the childish insults his old school rival had shot at him and the infuriating admission that he enjoyed winding Harry up. The most maddening part of what Draco had said was that he was right: Harry did let Draco get under his skin and he had done so since the first time that they had met in Madam Malkin’s in their first year. And it seemed like Draco had no intention of letting up this year, either.

 _It’ll be like old times,_ he thought to himself.

Harry mentally berated himself for finding a strange kind of comfort in that—his and Draco’s sparring sessions were never pleasant, but there was a familiarity to them that Harry desperately craved. He and Draco hating each other was perfectly normal and what did he want, if not normality?

 _Merlin, what is wrong with me?_ he thought miserably. Maybe what he really needed was a holiday.


	6. Chapter 6

_September 1st, 1998, 10:45am_

Platform 9 ¾ was abuzz with activity as students ran back and forth, wishing farewell to loved ones and reuniting with old school friends after a long summer apart—and in the case of Muggle-Born students, much longer than that. Cats yowled and owls hooted in their carriers and cages, waiting impatiently to be loaded onto the magnificent scarlet steam engine which would take students, new and old, to Hogwarts.

Draco Malfoy fondly remembered the first time he had set eyes on the Hogwarts Express; he had been instantly entranced at the sight of the shiny red train, billowing white steam across the busy platform like a huge, metallic dragon. He recalled how excited he had been to get to Hogwarts, to learn magic, and to make friends. But the journey aboard the Hogwarts Express had symbolised more than his first day at the renowned institution. The journey held the promise of unknown wonders that awaited him, of boundless possibilities and opportunities.

Of course, Draco’s school experience had been nothing like what he had expected it to be. Memorable for all the wrong reasons and more challenging and painful than he could ever imagine, some of it had been self-inflicted, but the worst of it was thrust upon him unwillingly. Some described Hogwarts like a second home, but that sentiment was not shared by Draco. The thought of going back there, especially after everything that had happened—at the Astronomy Tower, in the Room of Requirement, the atrocities he’d witnessed during the final battle—Hogwarts was the last place in the world that he wanted to be.

Yet here he was at King’s Cross Station, his school trunk and owl cage already stowed on the train, preparing himself to embark on his seventh and final year of education. He was careful to stand apart from everyone else, with only his mother by his side. Looking at the scarlet steam train now, he felt none of the excitement or hope that he had as a child. He cast a wary eye over the strangers on the busy platform; he didn’t want anyone hassling his mother after he boarded the train. He had told her not to come but she had insisted that she see him off.

“You’re still angry at me,” she stated quietly, interrupting his train of thought. Draco shoved his hands in his pockets and avoided his mother’s penetrating gaze.

“I wouldn’t be if you would just let me come home,” he mumbled.

“Staying at home would be of little use to you,” she argued. “Going back to Hogwarts and getting your qualifications is a far more constructive use of your time. You have your future to consider.”

Draco scoffed, “What future?”

“Whatever you make of it,” she countered testily. “I know that the last couple of years have been difficult, but you are a young man, Draco, you still have your whole life ahead of you. You must take opportunities when they present themselves and use them to your advantage. See this as an opportunity.”

 _“This_ is an exercise in futility, Mother. Going back to Hogwarts isn’t going to change anything. Not that it matters, you’ve already made it abundantly clear that my thoughts on my own future count for nothing,” he replied accusingly.

“It will be difficult, but it will not be pointless,” she argued. “Returning to Hogwarts is in your best interests. You cannot spend your life hidden in the Manor, too afraid to confront the world.”

“Like Father, you mean?” he sneered.

“Don’t speak about your father like that,” she warned in a low voice.

Draco rolled his eyes but bit his tongue. He was still angry with his mother for enrolling him in Hogwarts this year without consulting him. Draco had never argued with his parents before—he’d never had reason to fight with his mother and he had always been too afraid to confront his father about anything—but when Narcissa had told him about her correspondence with McGonagall, he had been furious. The argument that followed had been unpleasant: Draco accused his mother of meddling in his affairs and trying to control his life even though he wasn’t a child anymore. It was then that his father had stepped in and informed his son that so long as he lived under their roof, he would do as he was told. With no counter-argument and nowhere else to go, Draco had retreated to his room where he had remained for the duration of the summer holidays, pointedly ignoring his parents as much as he could.

It may have been a small and childish rebellion, but his options at this point were limited. Hogwarts, loath as he was to admit, was probably his best option. He knew that his mother believed that she was acting in his best interests, but he would have appreciated being consulted in the decision-making process. But then Draco had seldom been consulted about what he really wanted, all the big decisions in his life being made for him. He supposed that he should be used to it by now. That realisation depressed him immensely.

“Please don’t be angry with me, Draco,” Narcissa pleaded. “I can’t bear for us to part on bad terms.”

Draco sighed and finally looked up at his mother. Her face, normally a porcelain mask, was pinched with worry. Draco felt some of his indignant anger ebb away when he noticed that her icy blue eyes were glassy with tears. Evidently, she was as reluctant to send him away as he was to go. Draco took his mother’s hand into his own and gave it a slight squeeze.

“I’m still angry with you,” he admitted. “But I still love you.”

Narcissa’s face crumpled and she pulled Draco into a tight hug, hiding her face from view. Draco wrapped his arms around her and rested his head on her shoulder. Her long, blonde hair tickled his nose but he didn’t complain or move it out of the way. Instead, he closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, his mother’s perfume, which smelled like hyacinths, filling his nostrils. It was a comforting scent that reminded him of home. He wanted to stay there, hugging his mother until the train had pulled out of the station and left without him; that way, he could just go home. But too soon, Narcissa pulled away, brushing invisible dirt from his shoulders and tucking his hair behind his ears.

“Owl me so that I know that you have arrived safely,” she instructed him, her voice a little strained with the effort of keeping her emotions in check. Draco nodded and stared at his feet.

“I will,” he mumbled.

A shrill whistle blew, signalling that the train was about to depart. Narcissa smiled encouragingly at her son.

“Go on now, you don’t want to miss your train,” she gently pushed him towards the nearest carriage. Draco bent down to kiss his mother on the cheek before turning away and boarding the train without looking back. Much like that first day he boarded the Hogwarts Express, today felt like the beginning of a new journey for Draco. The unknown awaited him at the other end and he was afraid of what he’d find there.

Draco stumbled a little as the train jerked into motion and began slowly pulling out of the station. The corridors were still bustling with students but Draco was careful to avoid eye contact with anyone. If he couldn’t feel the eyes of the other students as they followed him, he could certainly hear their stage whispers as he made his way down the train towards the rear where the Slytherins usually sat. Keeping his eyes peeled for friendly company, Draco paused when he spotted a hulking figure in one of the compartments. Peering through the window pane, he felt a surge of relief when he saw Gregory Goyle: at least he wouldn’t be completely alone this year. Sliding the compartment door open, he stepped inside.

The chatter in the room came to an abrupt halt and all eyes turned towards Draco. That surge of relief that had briefly risen in him swiftly retreated as he realised that his sudden appearance was not a welcome one. Theo Nott sat nearest the window to Draco’s left, a polite smile fixed upon his face that didn’t reach his eyes. Beside him sat Blaise Zabini, his haughty expression usually only reserved for non-Slytherins now fixed firmly on Draco. Across from him was Pansy Parkinson, whose eyes darted between Draco and Gregory Goyle, who was sat beside her. Goyle wouldn’t meet Draco’s eyes, a deep frown set on his face as he stared at his hands rested on his lap, clenched into tight fists.

“Malfoy…” Theo Nott greeted Draco. “There’d been a rumour floating around that you were coming back this year.”

Draco fixed a smirk to his face as his heart began to beat harder in his chest. “For once the rumours about me are true. Unfortunately, the stories about me eloping with Myron Wagtail were pure hearsay. His loss, I say.”

“I must admit that I’m surprised to see you,” said Theo lightly. “I didn’t think that you’d be back this year.”

Draco chuckled. “You’re not the only one. Still, I’m glad to see that so many of the old gang are back. It should be an interesting year, if nothing else.”

“Hmm…”

An uncomfortable silence followed and no one invited Draco to sit down. Panic began to rise in Draco then; this was a much frostier reception than he had anticipated. He cleared his throat and turned to Goyle.

“I wrote to you over the summer, but I didn’t hear back from you. I’m sorry about your father. That Ministry ruling was a farce, in my opinion.”

“Yes, well, not all of us have the money to bribe our way out of a prison sentence, do we?” Theo cut in before Goyle could answer. He still had that fake smile plastered across his face, but his eyes betrayed his anger. Draco swallowed hard but his mouth suddenly felt very dry.

“I know how it must look, Theo, but that’s not what happened,” Draco tried to explain, but Theo didn’t look particularly interested in what Draco had to say.

“How is your father getting on these days?” he inquired. “Nobody has seen him in public since his trial. Not since he bought his freedom and scurried back under his rock at Malfoy Manor.”

“He’s been busy,” Draco replied stiffly. It was taking all of his willpower to ignore the jibe, but he knew that Theo was just trying to goad him into a fight. Theo let out a derisive laugh.

“I’m sure he is. He’s a Ministry man now, your father, isn’t he?” he sneered. “Running his mouth off about the rest of us to save his own skin—”

“That’s a lie!” Draco snapped.

“That’s the truth and you know it!” shouted Theo, all trace of a smile vanished. “Your family betrayed the Dark Lord, Potter won, and now our fathers are stuck in Azkaban!” He nodded towards Goyle who clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles audibly cracked. “And you think that you can just stroll in here and act as though nothing has happened? As if we’re still friends?”

“We’re...what do you mean?” Draco asked, confused. Theo glowered at him.

“I’m saying that we are not friends anymore, Draco. How could you think that we’d still be friends after everything that’s happened?”

“But...we’ve always been friends,” he replied weakly.

“Not anymore, we’re not.”

Draco felt winded by those words. Not friends? He had known Theo longer than anyone and he was Draco’s first and, for most of his life, only friend. He stared between Theo and Goyle, the two people he had been certain would be by his side, his only hope of getting through what was sure to be one of the most hellish years of his life. Of course, nothing would beat living under the same roof as the Dark Lord for a year, but losing the only friends he had left in the world was coming in at a very close second. He had to salvage this somehow...he could not bear to think of facing a year at Hogwarts completely alone.

“I’m sorry about your father, Theo. And yours, Goyle,” he said carefully. “But you know me, we’ve known each other longer than I can remember. I’m a lot of things, but I am not like my father. I am _not_ him!”

“I’d rather not take the chance,” said Theo coldly. He turned to the others and said, “I don’t think there’s enough room in here for another person. What do you guys think?”

“Nope,” said Blaise brusquely, crossing his arms. Goyle grunted in agreement and Pansy stared at her feet, looking miserable. Betrayal and shame bubbled up inside of Draco like hot bile. How could his friends single him out like this? At the moment he needed them more than ever, they were abandoning him, for circumstances that were completely out of his control. Tears stung the corners of his eyes but he kept his expression impassive; he wouldn’t let them see how hurt he was.

“Fine. Be that way,” he drawled. “I was growing tired of you lot anyway.”

“Yeah? Well, good luck finding anyone else willing to sit with you!” Theo shouted after him.

Draco stepped back out into the corridor and slammed the compartment door shut behind him. He had to get as much distance between him and his friends ( _ex-friends,_ he reminded himself) as possible. As he made his way down the corridor, he heard the compartment door slide open and someone called his name.

“Draco, wait!”

Draco paused and turned to face Pansy, who hurried towards him.

“What do you want?” he muttered.

“I’m sorry about what happened in there,” she said. “I just came out here to check that you’re okay.”

“I’m perfectly fine,” he lied. Pansy gave Draco a pitying look which just made him feel worse. _Merlin, don’t pity me, that’s worse than hate..._

“You know, Theo and Greg are going through a tough time at the moment and they’re upset about their dads. And with yours getting off, well…to them, it feels like you’re rubbing it in their faces a bit,” she explained.

“It’s not my fault that their fathers are in prison!” he snapped. “I didn’t ask for any of this to happen.”

“I know that,” she said gently. “But it’s easier to be angry at you than everyone else, isn’t it? They’re hurting right now, but they’ll come around eventually. It’s just going to take some time.”

Draco sincerely doubted that. “And what about you? Are you still talking to me?”

Pansy bit her lip. “Well, I’m about as popular as you are at the moment. We’re still friends, but I need to choose my alliances carefully. You understand, yes?”

Draco lowered his gaze and nodded. “I get it. Better having three friends who’ve got your back than just me.”

“You know how it is,” she shrugged.

“I do,” he sighed. “I can’t deny that if I were in the same position I wouldn’t do the same thing.”

Pansy smiled sadly at him. “We wouldn’t be Slytherins otherwise. Self-preservation is paramount.”

Pansy gave Draco’s hand a slight squeeze before heading back to the compartment to sit with the others, promising that she would be there for him if he ever needed her. He could have really done with her help there and then, but he just stood in the deserted corridor, unsure of what to do with himself. As angry as Draco was with Theo, he was right about one thing—if his own friends didn’t even want to sit with him, he doubted anyone else aboard this train would either.

Draco began slowly making his way back down the train, keeping his eyes peeled for an empty compartment but knowing that he wouldn’t find one. Every single compartment that he passed was full, except for one.

“Bloody typical,” he muttered under his breath.

Peering into the only compartment with extra seats, he saw Harry Potter sitting with Neville Longbottom and another boy that Draco didn’t recognise. He briefly considered popping into Harry’s compartment just to wind him up—it would serve as an excellent distraction from his miserable situation—but as though he could hear Draco’s thoughts, Harry suddenly turned and for a second they locked eyes. Draco quickly dipped his head and kept walking, his heart pounding. It was a little embarrassing getting caught staring at Harry in passing, but that would be nothing compared to the humiliation of admitting that nobody wanted to sit with him.

Checking the time on his pocket watch, he grimaced. They were still hours away from reaching Hogwarts and he didn’t fancy standing out in the corridor like a pleb for the remainder of the journey. After walking the full length of the train and confirming that there was nowhere else for him to sit, Draco had no choice but to slip into one of the unoccupied toilets. Locking the door behind him, he flipped the lid down and sat on the toilet, looking around with bemusement at the small, windowless room where he would spend the remainder of his journey.

Well, at least he had found a seat.

The train jerked suddenly and Draco bashed his head on the side of the wall with a dull thud. Cursing under his breath, he gingerly rubbed his right temple while he continued to sway side to side as the train rattled and creaked loudly. He shifted left and right trying to make himself more comfortable, but his legs were too long to allow him to move much around the cramped space. Letting out a long sigh of resignation, Draco crossed his arms and settled himself in for the long and lonely journey ahead of him.

* * *

_September 1st, 1998, 10:50am_

Harry balanced precariously on his tiptoes to look over the heads of the many people hurrying about Platform 9 ¾, his gaze fixed on two figures with platinum blonde hair standing at the opposite end of the platform. He still couldn’t believe that McGonagall had really given her blessing for Draco to return to Hogwarts. What on earth had possessed her? He had rather hoped that Draco had been playing an elaborate prank on him when they had bumped into each other on Diagon Alley, but seeing Draco here confirmed his worst fears. When Ginny noticed who Harry was ogling, she tsked and elbowed him in the ribs.

“Stop gawking at Malfoy and help me get the luggage on board the train,” she instructed. Harry rubbed his ribs and glared at her.

“I wasn’t gawking!” he mumbled in protest. “I just can’t believe that he’s actually showed up. He’s got some nerve…”

“Yes, I know what you think about it, Harry,” she huffed as they each took an end of her heavy trunk and shuffled towards the nearest carriage. “You’ve spoken about nothing else for the last few weeks. I’m not thrilled about Malfoy coming back either, but there’s nothing we can do it about it, so can you please drop it already?”

Harry glowered at her but kept his mouth shut. He didn’t think he’d mentioned it that often. Of course, it was the first thing that he had told Ron, Hermione and Ginny after their shopping trip to London. Ron had been as incensed as Harry, but surprisingly, Hermione had very little to say on the explosive revelation. When Harry had pressed her further for her opinion on the matter, she noted simply that while she was surprised that he would be returning to Hogwarts, she wasn’t necessarily opposed to the idea. Harry couldn’t believe his ears.

“This is the same Draco Malfoy that would have happily have seen you kicked out of school for being Muggle-born,” he had pointed out. “Why would you want anyone like that at Hogwarts?”

Hermione had closed her book and looked up at him then. “Because I believe in the same principles that Professor McGonagall preaches: that Hogwarts is a place of learning for all magical students, regardless of their creed, colour, blood status or background. If I were to deny Malfoy and the other Slytherins a right to an education, I’d be a hypocrite—to treat them the same way that they treated other Muggle-borns doesn’t make it justifiable. We shouldn’t exclude others based on our personal prejudices, Harry, even if we want to...even if we think that they deserve it.”

Hermione had then disappeared behind her book again and had refused to discuss the matter any further. Fine. If Hermione wouldn’t talk about it with him, Harry could always rely on Ron to have his back. His best friend had always been more than happy to sit and abuse Malfoy’s character until the mooncalves came home, but even he had grown a little weary of Harry’s complaints after the first week.

“Mate, I agree with everything you say and then some,” he’d said carefully. “But do we need to talk about it while we’re playing chess? It’s putting me off my game.”

Okay, maybe Harry had laboured on his point a bit too much.

Once all of their luggage was stowed on board, Harry hopped back onto the platform to wish Mrs Weasley goodbye. She hugged each of them in turn, tears streaming down her face as she told each of her children how much she loved them.

“Don’t cry, Mum,” Ron implored, patting her gently on the back as she cried into his shoulder. “You’ll see us again soon enough. Christmas is just around the corner.”

“I know,” she sighed, releasing her youngest son from her vice-like grip and dabbing her eyes with a sodden handkerchief. “It’s just...well, it never gets any easier to say goodbye.” She turned her attention to Harry, “Ready to go, dear?”

“Almost,” he smiled before pulling her into a tight hug. “Thank you for everything.”

“Oh, not to worry, dear,” she chuckled, stroking his hair. “Will you be coming home for Christmas?”

Home. Harry couldn’t help but grin at that. “That’s the plan, yeah.”

“Take care of yourself, Harry dear,” she said before adding, “And please try and stay out of trouble this year.”

Harry rolled his eyes and chuckled. “You know that trouble usually finds me. But I’ll try my best.”

A loud whistle blew and the students still standing on the platform began hurrying onto the train.

“We better go,” Ron said, throwing his rucksack over his shoulder and kissing his mother on the cheek. “Bye Mum. We’ll see you at Christmas.”

“Remember to write!” she called after him as he boarded the train.

Harry snatched the pet carrier off of the ground and boarded the train, Ginny and Hermione following close behind. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny waved to Mrs Weasley out of the open window as the train began to move. As the train rounded the bend, Mrs Weasley and the platform disappeared from sight.

“Will your mum be okay?” asked Hermione in a worried voice. “She seemed really upset.”

“Well, she wasn’t all that keen about us heading back this year,” Ginny admitted. “Not because she didn’t think Hogwarts isn’t safe or anything. Just...you know, after what happened.”

While no one mentioned Fred’s death out loud, the memory of it weighed heavily on all of their minds. This would be their first time returning to the school since the battle and, while Harry was looking forward to returning, he wasn’t sure how he would feel about the place when he got there. He didn’t expect things to be the same as they used to be—they had all changed so much in the last year, in the last few months, even—but there was a niggling fear in the back of Harry’s mind that after everything that had happened, Hogwarts would no longer feel like the home that it used to.

“Right, well, we better head down to the prefect’s carriage.” Ron picked up Pigwidgeon’s cage in one hand and the handle of his trunk in the other. “We’ll come and find you later.”

“I still can’t believe you got made a prefect,” Harry smirked at Ginny, who grimaced.

“Neither can I,” she admitted. “George threatened to disown me when he found out. At least I wasn’t made Head Girl, I think that would have been the death knell of our friendship.”

Harry waved off Hermione, Ron and Ginny as they headed towards the front of the train to sit with the other prefects, feeling a little lost without his friends by his side. Harry headed in the opposite direction, struggling down the narrow corridor with his pet carrier and trunk in tow. Peering through the glass-panelled doors into the compartments he passed, he wasn’t surprised to see that each of them were already full. Even less surprisingly—though no less embarrassing—a lot of people were staring back at him open-mouthed with shock while several others waved and pointed at him as he shuffled past. He hoped that he wouldn’t have to put up with that sort of behaviour all year, but there was little he could do about it either way. Just as he was beginning to worry that he wouldn’t find anyone to sit with, he paused when he spotted a familiar and friendly face sitting in one of the compartments. Knocking on the glass, he slid the door open and popped his head inside.

“Got room for one more?” he grinned. Neville looked up from his copy of The Quibbler and smiled.

“Harry!” Neville jumped to his feet and pulled Harry into a tight hug, thumping him hard on the back. “I read in the papers that you were coming back but then, you never know what to believe. It’s good to see you, mate.”

“Yeah, you too,” said Harry. “How’ve you been?”

“Good! Really good, actually,” Neville’s face took on a dreamy expression and he gave Harry a lopsided grin. “I don’t know if you heard, but me and Luna, um, well…”

Neville’s grin broadened and Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You and Luna?”

Neville nodded vigorously, “We spent a lot of time together over the summer and, I dunno, something just...sparked.”

Merlin, first Ron and Hermione, now Neville and Luna? Harry couldn’t help but feel a little jealous of his friends’ happiness. Not that they didn’t deserve it, but only because that elusive spark that Neville spoke about was something that he’d never felt himself. Still, he was happy for his friends, so pushing aside his musings about his own lacklustre love life, he smiled at Neville and patted him on the shoulder.

“That’s great, Neville. I can’t think of two people better suited to each other.” He glanced over Neville’s shoulder. “Where is Luna, anyway?”

“Prefect’s carriage,” Neville explained. “Here, let me help you with your trunk…”

Neville helped Harry stow his heavy trunk in the overhead luggage rack before they both collapsed onto the empty seats, panting for breath. It was only then that Harry realised that there was another person in the compartment: a small, frail-looking boy with mousy brown hair sat staring out of the window, although he didn’t seem to register the countryside whizzing past in a green blur. Harry realised with an unpleasant jolt that the boy was Dennis Creevey.

“Hi Dennis,” Harry greeted him carefully. “How was your summer?”

Dennis turned to face Harry and gave him a withering look. “How do you think?”

Harry could have kicked himself for asking such a stupid question. “Of course, it must have been awful. I’m sorry about what happened to Colin, he was a—”

“Don’t talk about my brother,” Dennis warned. “You’re the last person in the world I want to speak to about him. Just leave me alone.”

Suddenly, Dennis jumped to his feet and strode out of the compartment, slamming the door shut behind him with such force that the glass pane rattled. Neville stared after him, looking torn.

“Should we go after him?”

“No, he probably wants to be left alone,” said Harry, knowing from his own experience that he preferred to grieve in private. Having people chase after him when he was upset only made him feel worse. Dennis was one of many people who had suffered great personal loss during the war: his brother, Colin, had been killed during the Battle of Hogwarts. Harry couldn’t help but feel somewhat responsible for what had happened to Colin because he had always been an avid fan of Harry’s and Harry wondered if that had been a contributing factor in his decision to sneak back into Hogwarts to join the fight. Evidently, Dennis held Harry somewhat responsible for his brother’s untimely death as well. “Maybe I should leave. I can find somewhere else to sit…”

“No, don’t do that. I think if Dennis really wanted you to leave, he would have told you to already,” Neville argued. “I think he’s just angry. Not necessarily at you, just angry about what happened to Colin, and maybe angry at himself for not being able to prevent it. We’ve all been there, sometimes when we’re angry and upset, we push people away. The best thing that we can do in situations like that is to stay put so that when they’re ready to talk, they’ll know that they’re not alone.”

Harry was still of two minds about staying in the compartment because he didn’t want to upset Dennis any more than necessary. He decided that if Dennis did ask him to leave then he would do so without complaint. But when he returned to the compartment a little while later, he didn’t say anything to either Neville of Harry. Instead, he avoided their gaze and continued to stare out of the window, ignoring them both. An uneasy silence followed which Neville mercifully broke when he nodded towards the carrier sat beside Harry. “Did you get a new pet?”

“Oh, yeah, I did…” Happy for a change in subject, Harry opened the cage and a snow-white ball of fur shot up his leg and disappeared under his t-shirt. He stifled a laugh and squirmed in his seat. “Asha! Cut it out, that tickles!”

“Is that a Jarvey?” Neville asked with a worried note in his voice.

Harry shook his head and managed to grab ahold of the small, mustelid mammal before it scurried down his shorts. Thank Merlin for his quick Seeker reflexes.

“No, it’s just a ferret,” Harry assured him. “I saw her in the Magical Menagerie a few weeks ago. She’d managed to escape her cage and was causing havoc in the shop. Apparently, she’d garnered herself a reputation as a bit of a troublemaker.”

Neville chuckled. “So, you felt a bit of an affinity towards her in that regard.”

“Maybe a little,” Harry shrugged, smiling at the little ferret which was now sitting docilely on his lap.

Dennis cast a furtive glance at the ferret before staring back out of the window. Asha stared up at Harry with big, grey eyes, wagging her tail happily before curling into a ball and closing her eyes. Soon enough, she began to emit a quiet, squeaking sound as she snored.

“How’s Trevor faring these days?” asked Harry. Neville sighed and rolled his eyes.

“I swear, that toad will be the death of me! I suppose he’s doing well enough, he’s still escaping at every given opportunity. Thankfully, I’ve got him safely locked in his tank at the moment,” he said nodding towards the glass box stowed in the overhead compartment.

“Uh, Neville,” Harry began cautiously. “That tank is empty.”

 _“What?”_ Neville snapped. He leapt to his feet, pulled the glass tank down and sat it on his lap, peering desperately inside for the slippery amphibian, but the tank was indeed empty. Neville closed his eyes and groaned. “He’s escaped. Again! How does he keep doing that?”

“Do you want me to help you search for him?” Harry offered, but Neville declined.

“Nah, just forget it,” Neville slid the tank back onto the rack and slumped back into his seat. “I’ve learned over the years that keeping him locked up is a fruitless endeavour. I suppose he just likes his freedom. I trust that he’ll come back in the end, he always does.”

Harry heard movement by the door and turned to see, to his surprise, Draco Malfoy peering through the window at him. He thought for a moment that Draco might come into the compartment— _probably just to torment me as usual,_ he thought—but Draco’s expression hadn’t been taunting or smug. If anything, he looked jealous. But almost as soon as they had locked eyes, Draco lowered his head and strode out of sight. Harry frowned to himself: _since when had Draco Malfoy been jealous of him? And what was he doing lurking about the train on his own?_ He had to temper the temptation to pull out his Invisibility Cloak and follow Draco to see what he was up to. The last time he had done that, it hadn’t ended well for either of them.

“I do have something new to show you, actually!” said Neville excitedly, grabbing Harry’s attention again. On the table in front of the window sat a small potted plant which Harry thought looked like a bonsai tree. Neville sat the pot on his lap so that Harry could take a closer look.

“It’s a Wiggentree sapling,” he explained with a note of awe in his voice. “Gran got me one for my birthday this year. They’re quite rare but they’re dead useful: the bark is used to make Wiggenweld potions and anyone who touches the trunk of one of the trees will be protected from Dark creatures. When it’s fully grown I’m going to plant it in my garden and, hopefully, it’ll attract some Bowtruckles!”

“That’s brilliant, Neville,” said Harry, eyeing the little tree with interest.

He didn’t know what else to say about it—Herbology had always been Neville’s speciality—but he was content listening to his friend chat away about the finer details of magical plant care, revelling in the fact that he no longer had to worry about Death Eaters and Dark Lords. The rest of the journey was pleasantly uneventful: Harry and Neville bought a large pile of sweets from the trolley witch—they offered to share them with Dennis, but he declined—and chatted about their subjects for the upcoming year.

“Professor Sprout’s thinking about retiring in the next couple of years,” said Neville, popping a Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Bean into his mouth and pulling a disgusted face at the unpleasant flavour. “Bleurgh, tastes like grass. Anyway, she’ll be looking to take on an apprentice soon to train up as her replacement. She says that if I get an Outstanding in my Herbology N.E.W.T., she’ll consider taking me on as her apprentice!”

“That’s great,” said Harry, absent-mindedly stroking Asha, who remained curled up on his lap. “I’ll need at least an Exceeds Expectations in Herbology if I’ve got any chance of joining the Auror Academy.”

“How do you feel about achieving that?”

“Not that confident, if I’m honest,” he admitted.

“I feel the same way about Muggle Studies,” Neville’s shoulders sagged. “Okay, ‘not confident’ is a massive understatement—full disclosure, I know nothing about Muggles. The only part of the Muggle world I’ve ever visited is King’s Cross Station so I could board this train! How in the name of Merlin am I going to pass that class?”

Neville looked despairingly at Harry for an answer. Neville had undoubtedly gained a lot of self-confidence in the last couple of years—not four months ago he defied Voldemort, to his face no less, and beheaded a great bloody snake in the process. But every so often, the old Neville—the one who suffered from crippling self-doubt—bubbled back to the surface. He would never admit it aloud, but it gave Harry an odd sense of comfort that, in spite of everything that Neville had experienced, he could still be worried about something as seemingly mundane as his exams. It gave Harry hope that he, too, could feel the same way about normal things, like any normal eighteen-year-old.

“You know, I grew up with Muggles,” Harry reminded him. “Tell you what—I’m going to need all the help I can get passing Herbology this year. How about you help me out with that and I’ll help you with Muggle Studies?”

“Would you really?” asked Neville, wide-eyed with hope.

“Absolutely,” Harry smiled. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Neville looked as though he could kiss Harry then, but he refrained from doing that and instead offered Harry a pumpkin pasty, which he gladly accepted. If the worst thing that he had to worry about this year was passing his Herbology exam, this was going to be his least eventful and most relaxing year ever.

Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Luna visited their compartment later in the journey, each of them receiving the same muted response from Dennis, so they left him alone while they chatted and caught up on the events of the summer holidays. Asha took a real shine to Luna, dooking happily as she tickled the ferret’s soft belly. Crookshanks eyed the ferret warily, but he didn’t chase her like he had done with Scabbers. While Asha might not have completely won over the affections of Hermione’s loyal pet, she was at least permitted to stay in the same room. As far as Harry was concerned, that was practically a resounding endorsement. As the sun began to dip below the horizon, Harry knew that it wouldn’t be long before they arrived at Hogsmeade Train Station. While the others headed back up to the prefect carriages, he and Neville pulled on their school robes and gathered their belongings as the train began to slow down. Dennis pulled his luggage off of the shelf and left the compartment without saying a word, Neville and Harry staring after him.

“He looks like he’s had a rough time of it this summer, hasn’t he?” said Neville gently, clutching his Wiggentree sapling securely under his arm.

“A lot of us have,” Harry pointed out, carefully placing Asha back into her pet carrier. “I don’t know if coming back here was necessarily the best idea for everyone.”

Neville left the compartment to go find Luna, but Harry wasn’t in a hurry to depart the train. He was happy to wait for the rest of the students to get off ahead of him before finding a quiet carriage up to the castle. That way he’d avoid being stared at by the entire gaggle of students. When the station platform quietened down, Harry picked up his trunk and pet carrier and shuffled down the carriage towards the exit. Despite his trepidations about returning, Harry couldn’t help but feel excited about coming back to Hogwarts. For Harry, it always felt like coming home.


	7. Chapter 7

Draco was suddenly jerked awake when the train slowed to a stop and he hit the other side of his head on the bathroom wall.

“Ow! Bugger…” he grumbled, rubbing his sore head. He yawned and stretched out his long limbs, aching from sitting in such a cramped space for several hours. The journey had been an uncomfortable one, but at least they had finally arrived. Draco listened intently as students scrambled off of the train, waiting until it had quietened down before making his exit. The last thing that he needed was for anyone to see that he had been hiding in the toilets for the entire journey.

“Oof!”

“Watch it!”

As luck would have it, Draco opened the toilet door and walked straight into none other than Harry Potter. Their bodies crashed together with such force that Draco stumbled back into the small toilet, grabbing the door frame to steady himself. Out of instinct, Harry fumbled for his wand and pulled it out of his robes, but he paused when he realised who he had bumped into. Draco was still an enemy, but evidently, he hadn’t been deemed a particularly dangerous one since Harry quickly stuffed his wand back into his pocket.

“Malfoy?” he said curiously. “What are you still doing on the train?”

Surprised at his nemesis’s sudden and unexpected appearance, Draco was left momentarily dumbstruck, but he was quick to regain his composure. Smoothing down his robes he glared at Harry.

“Merlin, Potter, are you as blind as you are stupid?” he snapped, slamming the toilet door shut behind him. “Watch where you’re going!”

“I’m not the one swinging doors into people’s faces!” Harry raged. His eyes narrowed and he gave Draco a curious look. “Why were you hiding in the toilet?”

“I wasn’t hiding!” he replied defensively. “I was...well, I’m sure you can guess. Just get out of my way, will you?”

Draco tried to push past Harry but was stopped by his large trunk which blocked the path along the narrow corridor. He turned to Harry and looked impatiently at him.

“Move your trunk out of the way,” he demanded.

Harry snorted. “Not bloody likely.”

“Fine.” Draco drew his wand and pointed it at the trunk. “I’ll just blast it out of my way.”

“What are you playing at?” Harry spat angrily as he grabbed Draco’s wand arm. “That’s my stuff!”

“And? It’s probably full of rags, anyway,” Draco huffed as he tried to pull his arm free from Harry’s vice-like grip. “I’ll be doing you a favour blowing it up!”

Harry tried to wrestle the wand out of Draco’s hand but Draco wouldn’t relent. Twisting and pushing against each other, Draco took a step backwards and tripped over the trunk. He reached out for the only thing within reach and grabbed a fistful of Harry’s robes to stop himself from falling over, but Harry lost his footing and both of them tumbled over the trunk and landed with a loud thud on the carriage floor, arms and legs akimbo. Harry’s pet carrier flew out of his hand and clattered to the ground with a loud bang and the little ferret inside squeaked with fright. Harry’s eyes widened with horror.

“Shit! Asha, are you okay?” he cried.

The creature squeaked feebly in the affirmative and a white furry head popped out of the cage door, which now lay ajar. Harry let out a long sigh and his body relaxed against Draco’s, relieved that his pet wasn’t injured. Draco grunted as Harry’s body continued to pin him to the floor.

“Get off me, you great lump!” Draco wriggled helplessly under the weight of Harry’s body. Harry, however, did not move.

“Not until you drop your wand,” he countered, glaring down at Draco.

“I’ll blow _you_ up if you don’t. Get. Off. Of. Me!” he snarled, articulating each word for dramatic effect, but still, Harry wouldn’t budge. Instead, a playful smile teased the corners of his lips.

“Make me,” he challenged.

Draco glowered up at him and opened his mouth to reply but his angry expression transformed into one of horror and he began squirming violently under Harry.

“What are you doing?” asked Harry, sounding confused.

“Something’s run up my trouser leg!” squealed Draco, kicking his legs out and howling in unbridled panic as a small lump scurried up his leg towards his crotch. Harry looked up to see Asha’s cage conspicuously empty, so he quickly rolled off of Draco and pulled him to his feet. Draco proceeded to dance on the spot, tearing at his clothes. “Get it off me! Get it off!”

“Hold still, will you?” Harry ran his hands up Draco’s leg trying to grab hold of the elusive ferret, but even with Harry’s lightning-quick reflexes, Asha managed to slip from his grasp and proceeded to scurry up the back of Draco’s shirt. “Bugger! Where did she go?”

“Don’t let it bite me!” Draco begged.

“She won’t bite you! Just—oh for god’s sake, stop fidgeting!”

Harry had just begun unbuttoning the buttons of Draco’s shirt when, suddenly, Asha’s furry white head popped out of the top of the shirt collar. Draco yelped in fright as the ferret crawled on top of his shoulder before he tore off his robes and tossed them unceremoniously onto the floor.

“Careful!” Harry shouted, checking the robes for the ferret. “You might hurt her!”

“Hurt _her?”_ Draco exclaimed indignantly. “I’m the one who was attacked!”

“Don’t be so dramatic, she barely touched you!” Harry carefully stowed Asha back into her pet carrier. Draco scoffed and pointed accusingly at the mischievous mustelid.

“Look at those teeth!” he raged as Asha looked innocently back up at him. “She could have done some real damage!”

“I didn’t realise that you were so fragile,” Harry teased. “The great Draco Malfoy, felled by a little ferret. What would your father say?”

“What’s going on here?” came a sharp voice.

Draco spun around and came face to face with Professor Grubbly-Plank, who looked none too amused at the bizarre scene that she had stumbled upon. Harry was kneeling at the feet of a dishevelled-looking Draco, whose shirt was half-buttoned and his normally perfectly sculpted hair was sticking out in all directions. Harry quickly clambered to his feet and stepped away from Draco, clutching the pet carrier tightly to his chest. Grubbly-Plank cast a disapproving glance at Draco, who quickly straightened his shirt and buttoned it back up again.

“That’s quite enough canoodling, boys,” she said brusquely. “Gather your things and depart the train, please.”

Harry and Draco looked at her with matching expressions of horror.

“Canoodling?” Harry stammered. “We weren’t—we wouldn’t—”

“I was attacked, Professor!” Draco declared. Professor Grubbly-Plank smirked.

“Yes, I can see that,” she replied dryly. “I’m not interested in the particulars of what you boys were up to. Just gather your things and leave your trunks and pets on the platform with the other students’ belongings. Quickly now, the train is due to depart the station again soon.”

Without another word, she stepped off of the train, leaving Draco and Harry staring after her.

“But we weren’t canoodling!” Harry cried after her in protest. Draco shook his head in disbelief and attempted to sort his hair in the train window’s reflection.

“Canoodling...” he muttered under his breath. “She’s out of her mind.”

Harry snatched up the robes from the floor and tossed them at Draco’s head. “Never mind that, hurry up and grab your stuff or else we’ll be stuck travelling back to London together.”

That threat spurred Draco into action. He quickly pulled his robes back on and retrieved his owl and trunk from the luggage car. He and Harry left their belongings beside the mountain of other trunks, pet carriers and cages on the platform, where Professors Grubbly-Plank and Sprout had their wands drawn and were performing the (now customary) security checks on all of the luggage while the caretaker, Argus Filch, rummaged through one of the trunks.

“Contraband!” he declared gleefully, pulling a large bottle of sherry out from the bottom of one of the trunks. “Someone has secured themselves detention with me on their first day!”

Professor Sprout checked the name on the trunk and chuckled. “That’s Sybill’s trunk, Argus. You’d better put that back unless you want her hexing you.”

Filch looked crestfallen. “Oh. Right…”

“Better luck next time!” she shrugged.

Filch tossed the bottle back into the trunk and slammed it shut before slinking off to search one of the other trunks for illicit items. Harry and Draco stalked up the deserted platform in the direction of the school entrance gates, keeping as much distance between them as possible.

“No sneaking off into the bushes you two!” Professor Grubbly-Plank called after them. “Head straight to the carriage waiting for you by the entrance gates. Chop chop!”

Harry and Draco’s cheeks turned a matching shade of crimson and they both hurried away from the professor and her outlandish accusations. Harry cast a disparaging glance at Draco, who marched with his head held high and a haughty expression fixed on his face as if the world owed him something. Harry rolled his eyes and stared straight ahead, trying his best to ignore Draco. As if he and Draco would do anything that Grubbly-Plank had suggested: they hadn’t even made it through the castle gates yet and already Harry was having to resist the urge to hex the smarmy git. The sooner he got up to the castle and away from Draco, the better.

Draco’s cocky demeanour quickly receded, however, as they approached the last thestral-drawn carriage that waited to take them up to the castle. His pace slowed and he came to a complete stop a few meters from the carriage, looking uneasy. Harry paused and turned to face Draco.

“What is it now?” he sighed impatiently. He was in no mood for more of Draco’s amateur dramatics. Draco crossed his arms across his chest and frowned.

“I’m not getting on that carriage with you.”

Harry groaned. “Are you so childish that you’re not even willing to sit next to me on a bloody carriage? You know what? Suit yourself. You can walk up to the castle for all I care…”

Harry began to climb into the carriage but paused when Draco shouted after him, “It’s not that! It’s—” Draco stopped speaking abruptly, pursed his lips and stared at the ground, looking embarrassed and, to Harry’s surprise, a little frightened. Harry looked curiously between Draco and the carriage, trying to figure out what exactly the problem was. One of the thestrals huffed and pawed the ground impatiently and suddenly Harry realised what was going on.

“Oh,” he said quietly. “You haven’t seen the thestrals before.”

“They’re bad luck,” Draco bit out defensively, looking anywhere but at the winged creatures. “They bring all sorts of horrible misfortune to those who can see them and I’ve had quite enough of that lately, thank you very much.”

The temptation to mock Draco for believing such silly superstitions gripped Harry then. If the shoe were on the other foot, Draco would have delighted in teasing Harry for being frightened—he’d done as much throughout their third year when Harry was so adversely affected by the Dementors. The temptation to get a little payback was strong...but Draco’s awkwardness and fear quickly tempered that feeling and, against his better judgement, he actually felt sorry for him. The implications of being able to see thestrals was no laughing matter; Harry knew all too well that they served as a constant reminder to the death one had witnessed. He fleetingly wondered who it was that Draco had seen die, but he pushed that thought aside and took a tentative step towards Draco.

“They’re not dangerous, you know,” he said gently. “They’re really quite nice. Here…”

Draco watched cautiously as Harry stepped up towards one of the thestrals and gently patted it on the neck. The thestral whinnied and tossed its head happily in response and Harry smiled before turning and giving Draco a look of encouragement. Draco uncrossed his arms and let them fall limp by his side, but he remained rooted to the spot.

“See? There’s not to be scared of,” Harry reassured him.

“I’m not scared!” Draco snapped.

Harry gave a careless shrug.

“Fine. If you’re not scared then getting on the carriage isn’t going to be a problem, is it?” He climbed aboard the carriage leaving Draco alone on the dark, deserted pathway. After waiting a few moments, Harry popped his head out of the carriage window and called to Draco, “Are you coming or not?”

Draco still looked in two minds about whether he wanted to join Harry. He glanced uncertainly between the thestrals and the pitch black wooded path that led up to the castle.

“Maybe I’ll just walk…” he mumbled.

“Suit yourself,” said Harry lightly. “Although you’ll probably miss the feast by the time you make it up there. Personally, I wouldn’t want to risk ruining my shoes walking up that muddy path, but it’s up to you.”

Whether it was the threat of ruining his school shoes or going to bed with an empty stomach that finally persuaded Draco to climb aboard the carriage, Harry didn’t care to ask. Draco flopped down into the seat opposite Harry, arms crossed and scowling, and a moment later the carriage jerked forward and began to trundle down the darkened path towards the castle.

“You’re not going to be the only one seeing thestrals this year,” Harry reminded him. “I imagine quite a few people saw them for the first time tonight.”

“I know that,” Draco replied stiffly.

“When I saw them for the first time, I was a bit freaked out by them as well,” Harry admitted. “They do look kind of spooky at first, but you quickly get used to them.”

“I don’t want to get used to them. I want to put as much distance between me and them as possible,” Draco replied irritably.

Harry rolled his eyes but said nothing. He was already regretting not leaving Draco at the school entrance. Draco glanced at Harry a couple of times before speaking up himself.

“I must ask what on earth possessed you to buy a rat as a pet?” he asked huffily. “They’re vile little creatures.”

Harry raised a surprised eyebrow at Draco. The one and only time Draco had previously attempted to engage in small talk with Harry was during their very first time meeting at Madam Malkin’s when they were eleven. That attempt had been as tactful as this one.

“Asha isn’t a rat, she’s a ferret,” Harry explained patiently. “I wouldn’t buy a rat as I’m not all that fond of them myself.”

“It looked like a rat to me,” Draco muttered.

“Well, then you need to get your eyes checked,” Harry sniped. Draco tsked and was silent for a few moments before speaking again.

“Why are you buying another pet, anyway?” he inquired. “You already have an owl and students are only supposed to have one pet. Is McGonagall giving you preferential treatment already?”

Harry’s expression grew stony and he stared out of the window.

“Her name was Hedwig,” he replied shortly. “She died.”

Shock flashed across Draco’s face and he shifted awkwardly in his seat. “Oh. Right...sorry to hear that.”

Harry jerked his head towards Draco in surprise. “Did you just say sorry? To me?”

“No,” he replied quickly, looking embarrassed. “You must have misheard me.”

“You did,” Harry chuckled. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say sorry before, to anyone or for anything. Ever.”

“Yes, well...don’t read too much into it, I was only being polite,” Draco warned. Harry couldn’t help but snort at that and Draco’s eyes narrowed.

“While the same can’t be said for you, Potter, I’m not completely lacking in manners,” he drawled. “My mother taught me well. Why are you laughing?”

Harry couldn’t help but burst into fits of laughter at that, and the indignant expression on Draco’s face only made him laugh harder. Draco couldn’t understand what was so funny and the angrier he got, the more Harry laughed.

“It’s not funny!” he fumed. “You know what? I retract my condolences. You and that rat of yours can bugger off!”

Ignoring the retort, Harry chuckled and wiped tears from his eyes. “You must admit, you saying sorry does sound a bit weird. You must have hit your head really hard when you fell.”

Draco rubbed the sore spot on the back of his head, he could already feel a lump forming under his hair. “Yes, I did hit the ground quite hard. No thanks to you, you’re a lot heavier than you look.”

“I wouldn’t have fallen on you if you hadn’t pulled me on top of you,” Harry pointed out. Draco scoffed.

“I wouldn’t have fallen over in the first place if you hadn’t been manhandling me.”

“You were threatening to blow up my stuff!”

“Your trunk was in my way!” argued Draco.

Their brief foray at small talk quickly descended into another argument as they proceeded to sling verbal insults at each other for the remainder of the journey. As the carriage jerked to a halt at the castle steps, the great oaken front doors swung open of their own accord to welcome them into the vast flagged Entrance Hall. They continued to bicker furiously as they marched up the steps into the castle and across the entrance towards the Great Hall.

“For the love of god, will you shut up already about being attacked?” Harry hissed. “A ferret ran up your trouser leg, get over it.”

“She could have bitten me!” Draco seethed.

“What, are you afraid that she’d bite you and you’d turn into a Were-Ferret?” Harry mocked. “You needn’t worry about turning into a weasel, Malfoy, you already are one.”

Draco opened his mouth to reply but Harry shushed him as they approached the entrance to the Great Hall. Draco gaped at Harry in utter disbelief.

“Did you just _shush_ me?” he said, his voice rising.

“Quiet!” Harry hissed, peering through the door into the Great Hall. “I think the Sorting Ceremony’s started.”

Draco looked incensed at being silenced, but he kept his mouth shut and they both listened intently as Professor Flitwick’s distant voice echoed out of the Great Hall, followed by intermittent and rapturous applause. Draco tapped his foot impatiently on the ground while Harry watched the proceedings for a few moments before stepping back again.

“Looks like they’re almost finished,” he said quietly. “There weren’t many students left waiting at the side to be sorted. We should slip in after the ceremony’s wrapped up.”

“Why can’t we just go in now?”

“I’m not barging in in the middle of the ceremony!”

“I thought you enjoyed making grand entrances?” Draco teased. Harry glared at him.

“I wouldn’t do that because I’m not an attention-seeking prat like you.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Draco drawled. “Weren’t you the one who decided that taking the train wasn’t exciting enough and flew a car into the Whomping Willow? I’m surprised you didn’t hijack the carriage and ride it through the middle of the feast.”

Harry couldn’t help the mental image of him crashing into the Great Hall atop the thestral-drawn carriage at top speed flashing through his mind. He struggled to suppress a smile as he envisioned Filch and Mrs Norris diving out of his way and the other students scattering in all directions before he came to an abrupt stop in front of a livid Professor McGonagall. Harry quickly turned away from Draco to hide his face; he didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing that he’d made Harry laugh.

There was another round of applause and then chatter broke out amongst the students. Harry peered into the hall again and said, “Looks like the ceremony’s over. I’ll go in first and you follow in a minute.”

“Why do you get to go first?” Draco whinged. Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath, it was taking all of his willpower not to knock Draco on his arse with a Bat-Bogey Hex.

“Fine, you go first if it’s so important to you,” he replied through clenched teeth.

“Of course, the saviour of the Wizarding world wouldn’t want to be seen walking beside an unsavoury character like myself,” Draco teased. “People might get the wrong idea and think that we were in cahoots.”

“Or canoodling,” Harry quipped.

Draco blushed furiously and scoffed, “As if.”

“Are you going or not?” Harry asked irritably. Draco rolled his eyes and strolled past him.

“Alright, I’m going,” he sighed dramatically. “I’m going to enjoy the feast and think up a whole host of other things I can say and do to annoy you this year.”

“Wanker,” Harry muttered but Draco just smirked and sauntered into the hall. He watched as Draco weaved his way between the students towards the Slytherin table, several eyes and whispers following him as he passed. Harry couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy for Draco then since he knew all too well what it was like to be the focus of so much unwanted attention.

Even so, he’d probably have felt more sympathetic towards him if Draco didn’t act like such an insufferable git all of the time. He was definitely getting a kick out of winding Harry up; on the train and in the carriage, he looked more amused than affronted by Harry’s retorts, which just annoyed Harry even more. That said, a part of him, deep down, had missed their little sparring sessions, although he would never admit that to anyone. It seemed that Draco had missed them, too. Harry sighed and shook his head. Merlin, they were as bad as each other.

Harry took a deep breath before rounding the corner and striding into the hall, his eyes fixed straight ahead as, like Draco, he tried his best to tune out the hushed whispers that followed him wherever he went these days. He felt relief sweep over him when he finally caught sight of Ron and Hermione sitting at the Gryffindor table. When Hermione saw him, she waved him over and patted the empty seat beside her that she had kept for him.

“Where have you been?” she exclaimed, her voice slightly higher pitched than usual. “You missed the Sorting Ceremony!”

“I got stuck riding in the last carriage with Malfoy,” Harry explained, sinking into the empty seat and slipping off his cloak. Ron gave him a thorough once-over.

“No cuts or bruises or broken bones this time,” he mused. “Did you turn him into a slug again?”

Harry laughed. “Not this time, we only exchanged a few verbal threats.”

“Ah. Well, nothing’s changed there, then,” said Ron cheerfully.

“Well, that’s progress of sorts,” Hermione encouraged. “You did say that you were going to try and stay out of trouble this year. Well done for not losing your temper with him, Harry. I know that couldn’t have been easy.”

A hush fell over the crowd as Professor McGonagall rose to her feet to address the school. Harry had seen her at a couple of funerals over the summer, but he noticed that her expression looked more pinched than usual. She cleared her throat and fixed a smile to her tired face.

“Welcome, students, to a new year at Hogwarts,” she greeted them with her usual polite but firm manner. “I’m pleased to see so many familiar faces return.”

“Some more than others,” Ron muttered, glancing towards the Slytherin table.

“Before we begin our feast, I have a few important announcements to make,” she began. “Reconstruction on the school is nearing completion. However, as the Quidditch pitch was completely destroyed, it will not be ready in time for a new season to take place this year...”

Groans of disappointment rippled throughout the crowd and Ron looked horror-struck at this revelation. One of the main things that he and Harry had been looking forward to upon their return to Hogwarts was the chance of winning the Quidditch Cup for one last time before graduating.

“...And until further notice, sections of the seventh floor and the North Tower are inaccessible,” Professor McGonagall continued. “Alternative classroom arrangements for Divination lessons have been posted on the notice boards in each house common room. We also have alternative plans to replace the Quidditch tournament this year, details of which will be revealed in due course.”

“Alternative plans?” said Ron curiously. “What do you think that means?”

“Dunno,” Harry shrugged. “Whatever it is, it’ll be no substitute for Quidditch.”

Ron’s eyes widened and he gasped. “You don’t think it’s another Triwizard Tournament?”

“God, I hope not,” Harry groaned.

“I doubt that’s what it’ll be, Ron,” said Hermione quietly. “Not after what happened the last time.”

Ron’s face fell and he looked apologetically at Harry. “Sorry mate, I didn’t think…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry assured him with a small smile. “If it is another Triwizard Tournament, you’re old enough to qualify this time. If you get picked, I’m happy to cheer you on from the sidelines as you do battle with dragons and merpeople.”

“You really think I’d be in with a chance of being the Hogwarts Champion?” asked Ron hopefully. Hermione tsked.

“It’s not going to be a Triwizard Tournament!” she insisted.

“Let a man dream, Hermione,” Ron sighed, his expression turning dreamy. “Eternal glory…”

Hermione looked ready to argue with Ron but she quickly closed her mouth as Professor McGonagall began to speak again.

“And now for some good news,” she continued. “I am delighted to introduce two new members of staff to our ranks. Professor Liv Tonks has kindly consented to fill the post of Muggle Studies teacher.”

A pretty, fair-haired woman sitting at the staff table jumped to her feet and waved enthusiastically at the students who applauded politely in return. Harry scrutinised her closely: after Liv’s photograph had been published in the Daily Prophet, Harry had been taken aback at the resemblance she and Nymphadora bore. She appeared friendly enough, but he couldn’t help but find the physical similarities between her and his dearly departed friend a little unnerving. Sporting moss green robes and styling her long hair into a simple twisted bun, Liv was a more subdued version of the Tonks he knew.

When Liv sat back down, Professor McGonagall spoke again, “I would also like to introduce you to Professor Hestia Jones, who will fill the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.”

A young, black-haired woman with rosy cheeks rose to her feet and gave a curt nod to the students before sitting back down again. Harry immediately recognised her as one of the Order members who had been tasked with protecting the Dursleys during the war. He had only met her briefly on the day he had departed Privet Drive for the last time, but she seemed like a nice person. She had been taken aback at how little interest the Dursleys had in Harry’s welfare and she hadn’t been shy about telling his aunt and uncle exactly what she thought of them. He only hoped that they hadn’t given her and Dedalus Diggle too much trouble. Hestia caught Harry’s eye and flashed him a quick smile and a wink before leaning over to speak to Professor Trelawney, who was sat to her left.

“That concludes all the important announcements for this evening,” said Professor McGonagall with a genuine smile. “Let the feast begin!”

In the blink of an eye, the empty dishes on each of the long tables piled high with every type of food imaginable: sausage casserole, gammon steaks, buttermilk fried chicken and poached salmon were just a taste of the countless offerings available. Harry’s stomach rumbled loudly at the sight of so much delicious food and it was only then that he realised how hungry he was. He made sure to wrap some food up in a paper towel for Asha before filling his plate with a little bit of everything—he might not have Quidditch to enjoy this year, but at least he still had the daily feasts to look forward to.

“How was the Sorting Ceremony?” he asked before shovelling a large mouthful of mashed potato into his mouth. Looking up and down the Gryffindor table, he saw a few new faces looking nervous but excited. He remembered feeling the same way when the Sorting Hat had been plonked onto his head.

“Uneventful,” Ron shrugged. “Mind you, the kids that got sorted into Slytherin didn’t look too happy about it.”

“No surprise there,” Harry mumbled through a mouthful of food.

“One girl actually burst into tears,” said Hermione quietly.

“I’d be crying too if I were sorted into Slytherin,” Ron said grimly. “I’m surprised McGonagall doesn’t just disband their house altogether.”

“You can’t just disband one of the houses because you don’t like it!” Hermione exclaimed.

“Why not?” asked Ron. “Nobody wants to be there anyway.”

“If you’re going to disband one house then you’d have to get rid of all of them,” she argued.

“I only remember _one_ of the founding members sticking a great bloody basilisk in the school to kill students!” Ron pointed out. Hermione let out an impatient sigh.

“I cannot deny that Salazar Slytherin was an... _unsavoury_ character—”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Ron cut in, but Hermione ignored his interruption and pressed on.

“But we cannot tar all Slytherins with the same brush,” she implored. “There are just as many good ones as bad.”

Ron let out a mirthless laugh. “Name one good Slytherin!”

Hermione looked thoughtful for a moment before saying, “Merlin was in Slytherin and he was one of the greatest wizards of all time.”

“Merlin died about a thousand years ago!” Ron laughed. “So you admit that there’s been no half-decent Slytherins since then?”

“What about Regulus Black?” she replied confidently. “He died trying to destroy the locket Horcrux and defied Voldemort.”

“Oh wow, one person out of how many?” he replied sarcastically rolling his eyes.

“Well, there was Snape,” Harry offered. Ron screwed up his face in disgust.

“Snape?” he sneered. “He was a foul git!”

“I’m not saying he wasn’t,” said Harry mildly. “Still, he did save my life, more than a few times. And he was on our side.”

Ron didn’t look entirely convinced by this argument, but rather than argue he gave a careless shrug. “Yeah, well...he was still a foul git.”

“What about Professor Slughorn?” asked Hermione. “He fought at the final battle, he and Professor McGonagall duelled Voldemort together!”

“Alright, Slughorn’s earned a free pass,” Ron relented. “But it’s not an impressive list, is it? A Hogwarts Professor, two ex-Death Eaters, and a warlock who died centuries ago. Thanks for proving my point, Hermione: most Slytherins are nothing but trouble.”

As Ron and Hermione continued their argument, Harry’s eyes drifted towards the Slytherin table. He noted that there were a few more miserable faces there than the other three houses; several of the older students looked nervous to be back at Hogwarts, and unlike the rest of the school who chatted excitedly with one another, few of the Slytherins were speaking. He scanned the table and was surprised to see so many familiar faces had returned: Goyle was sitting with Theo, Blaise and Pansy, the four of them leaning close to each other, whispering amongst themselves. Someone was noticeably absent from this gloomy little group and Harry scanned the table for a platinum-blonde head. He was surprised to see Draco sitting at the opposite end of the Slytherin table, hand resting on his face and looking incredibly bored. Harry watched him curiously for a few moments—why wasn’t he sitting with his friends?

Ron drew Harry’s attention away from Draco by nudging him and nodding to the opposite end of the Slytherin table.

“Check out Goyle,” he muttered. “Is it just me or is he giving us the stink eye?”

Usually, Goyle’s facial expressions ranged between vacant and confused, so Harry was a little taken aback at the intense expression on his face: his heavy brow was furrowed into a deep frown and his mouth was set in a thin line. Harry thought his expression was that of a person trying to decipher a complex mathematical equation, but he very much doubted that was why Goyle was glaring in their general direction. Whatever he was thinking, he wasn’t happy about it.

“Oh my,” Hermione sounded slightly alarmed. “He doesn’t look like a happy camper, does he?”

“What’s his problem?” Ron wondered aloud as he speared another porkchop and dumped it onto his plate.

“Well…” Hermione began. “It could have something to do with his father being handed a life sentence in Azkaban. Or his best friend being killed in a fire…”

“Neither of which is our fault,” Ron argued.

“I quite agree.” She shrugged. “But we were somewhat involved in both events, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he blamed us a _little_ bit for what happened.”

“He wouldn’t be sitting there looking so bloody miserable if it weren’t for us!” said Ron irritably. “We pulled him out of that fire—a fire that Crabbe started—so he should be thanking us!”

“I wouldn’t hold your breath, mate,” Harry muttered, focusing on the food on his plate rather than Goyle’s death stare. Harry had tackled with far worse in his life than the likes of Gregory Goyle, so whatever his problem was, Harry wasn’t going to lose any sleep over it.

Harry had to contend with a few students coming up to him during the feast to sing his praises and shake his hand, which he didn’t enjoy most of the time but enjoyed even less when he was trying to eat his dinner. The only welcome interruption was when Hagrid came over and pulled him into a bone-crushing hug.

“You’ll come down to visit me an’ Fang this Sunday, yeah?” he asked after finally releasing Harry, who staggered dazed back into his seat. “I wan’ ter hear all abou’ what ye been up tae this summer!”

Harry looked up at his oldest friend and grinned. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Brillian’!” Hagrid beamed. He turned to Ron and Hermione. “An’ you two? You comin’ as well?”

“Of course!” Ron smirked. “Hermione’s missed your rock cakes.”

“Then I’ll have a fresh batch made up fer yeh’s!” he promised. As Hagrid waved them off and ambled back to the staff table, Hermione drew Ron an accusatory look.

“I’ve missed his rock cakes?” she said flatly. Ron sniggered.

“It was either that or we risked him making us his famous treacle fudge. I figured the rock cakes were the lesser of two evils.”

“Fair point,” she relented.

After the feast had ended, the students slowly filed out of the Great Hall towards their respective houses. Harry and the other Gryffindors began the unenviable ascent of Hogwarts’s many winding staircases towards Gryffindor Tower, each step more difficult than the last as exhaustion took hold of him. When he finally shuffled into the boys’ dormitory, their trunks had been placed at the end of each of their beds and he was relieved to find Asha already fast asleep on his pillow.

After wishing everyone goodnight, Harry lay in bed enjoying the feeling of his body relaxing and sinking into the comfortable mattress. Although he was exhausted, his mind was abuzz with activity and inevitably his mind drifted towards Draco Malfoy again. While their conversation on the carriage had been strained, Harry got the sense that Draco had been making an effort to speak to him civilly, albeit with little success. They had still ended up arguing—as they always did—but their interaction had been more teasing than antagonising.

Asha stirred in her sleep and resettled herself in Harry’s lap and soon she was snoring gently again. Harry couldn’t help but smile remembering how Draco had squirmed and squealed as Asha scarpered up his trouser leg—it was a sight he wouldn’t soon forget. Asha had more than proven herself to be quite the little troublemaker, which only made Harry all the more fond of her.

Harry looked out of the window where he could see the darkened rooftop of the owlery in the distance and felt that familiar dull ache when he thought of Hedwig. It was strange being back here without her. He had worried that it would feel strange being back at Hogwarts. He supposed it did a little bit, but it wasn’t an entirely unpleasant feeling. So much had changed, but he supposed that change wasn’t always bad: suppose he and Draco Malfoy somehow came to a place where they could put aside their mutual hatred and learn to live with each other...that had to be a good thing, right?

 _That might be asking a bit much,_ he thought wryly to himself.

Still, he was glad that some things had remained exactly the same: Hagrid was still here, the food was still delicious, and most importantly, he had Ron and Hermione by his side. Harry closed his eyes and listened to the familiar sounds of the other boys as they slept: Neville snored loudly, Seamus muttered in his sleep every so often, Dean’s bed creaked as he tossed and turned (he had always been a light sleeper) and Ron made a little whistling noise every time he exhaled. It was just like old times. Harry smiled to himself and let sleep carry him away into a dreamless night, wondering what Hogwarts had in store for him this year.


	8. Chapter 8

On the first morning of the new term, Liv Tonks sat at her classroom desk feeling excited and anxious in equal measures. Afraid that she would somehow be late for her first ever lesson as a Hogwarts professor, she had left her quarters an hour before the class was due to begin. She missed breakfast in the Great Hall, although her stomach was churning so badly with nerves she wouldn’t have been able to eat anyway. In the ten minutes that had passed since Liv had arrived in her classroom, she had already triple-checked that she hadn’t forgotten any of the books and notes that she needed. As the clock overhead ticked loudly, she proceeded to rearrange the items on her desk, first adjusting the angle of a framed photograph of herself and her dad a little to the left, then moving it back again a moment later. She shuffled her notes again and sat them carefully at the centre of her desk, desperate to keep her hands busy as her mind raced.

She knew that it was natural to feel a little apprehensive on the first day of a new job as she had felt much the same when she had started working at MACUSA (she hadn’t had much of an appetite that day, either). Starting work at the Ministry of Magic hadn’t been as bad since she already knew Dirk and Dora were close by to provide moral support if she needed it. A sharp stab of grief shot through Liv’s heart thinking about them, so intense that it left her breathless. Trying desperately to distract herself from the sudden overwhelming need to cry, she pulled a pocket mirror out of her top drawer and began fussing about with her hair instead. It was better to occupy her thoughts with mundane things like her appearance than risk being caught crying before her first lesson had even begun, and she didn’t want to give a bad first impression. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder what Ted, Dirk and Dora would make of her packing in her career to become a teacher. She liked to think Ted would approve and that he’d consider the opportunity to shape the character, calibre and future of young students, a noble profession. Dirk and Dora would probably scold her for agreeing to take such a considerable decrease in her wages.

Liv scrutinised her appearance closely and let out a weary sigh: god, she looked tired. She had faint marionette lines draping from the corners of her mouth and she was developing wrinkles around her coffee-coloured eyes. She tsked as she noticed a large toothpaste stain on the front of her olive robes. Licking her thumb, she tried to rub it off but to no avail. _Never mind,_ she thought to herself. Nobody is likely to notice something so small. At least her hair was tidy: styled into a low, flat, twisted bun, she tucked the few loose strands behind her ears and tossed the mirror back into the top drawer. Satisfied that she didn’t look like an idiot, now all she had to do was to make sure that she didn’t act like one. Closing her eyes, she huffed out a breath and rolled her shoulders, trying to relax. Despite all of her preparation, she was still worried that she would end up making a fool of herself.

She glanced at the clock behind her desk and grimaced—there was still another forty minutes to go before the class was scheduled to start. She aimlessly flicked through her lesson plan again but she had already memorised it back to front. Leaning back on her swivel chair, she swayed from side to side, her apprehension now mercifully waning only to be replaced with something arguably worse—boredom. Suddenly, there was a loud rumbling of a borborygmus and she felt a pang of hunger in the pit of her stomach. She now regretted not heading down to the Great Hall for breakfast, but there wasn’t enough time for her to grab a bite to eat before lessons began at nine.

Objectively, she knew that she had nothing to be afraid of. She had spent the better part of a year working with the worst kinds of people imaginable—bigots, sadists, murderers—and survived to tell the tale. What was a Death Eater compared to a bunch of teenagers? Well, she actually cared about the opinions and well-being of her students, for one. But this was no ordinary group of school kids: Neville Longbottom, Seamus Finnigan and Ginny Weasley were amongst those returning students who had spent last year walled up in Hogwarts during the Carrows’ reign. And until very recently, others had been on the run, imprisoned, tortured and worse…

What surprised her was the high number of infamous names on the list of returning students: Nott. Goyle. Parkinson. Malfoy. Liv knew all of their fathers in some shape or form—she’d gone to school with most of them—and she didn’t need to ask McGonagall if they had bothered to take the Muggle Studies class before the Carrows had made it a compulsory subject. Death Eaters would see no need for their children to learn about Muggle customs and culture when they would sooner see them eradicated. Yet here they were, perhaps not as ready and willing to learn as some of the other students, but still, they had agreed to return to school and Liv thought that had to count for something. Perhaps they weren’t the lost causes that everyone else had written them off to be.

And then, of course, there was Harry Potter. Liv had been surprised to read in the papers that the so-called saviour of the wizarding world would want to return to the mundane routine of school life. Still, she was interested to see what kind of student he would turn out to be. It was a classroom full of veritable war heroes and villains, not your usual group of hormonal, opinionated adolescents. These kids had already seen and experienced more of the world than most of their peers, which presented a unique challenge for Liv: how on earth was she going to get them to listen to a damn word that she, a stranger—an outsider—had to say?

She wasn’t sure that she could, but she was going to give it her best shot.

Liv had glanced over their school records hoping to get a better idea of what kind of class she was going to teach and had chatted with Professor McGonagall at length about each of the seventh-year students. She had a rough idea about existing student rivalries and relationships and the Slytherin in her was already working out ways to use that information to her advantage—for the benefit of the students, of course. Her grand plan, which had the headmistress’s backing, was an ambitious one that ran a very high risk of failure. But Liv was as determined as she was ambitious and had never been one to shy away from a challenge.

Liv spun around in her chair to face the clock again and groaned when she saw that only a minute had passed since she had last checked the time. Throwing her head back against the headrest, she proceeded to sway from side to side again on her chair, thinking about the feast the previous evening. Professors Sprout and Flitwick only vaguely remembered Liv from her school days, but then they had taught countless students in the twenty years since she had graduated. She was relieved to have been sat next to Horace Slughorn during the meal, a friendly face amongst a sea of strangers. It helped that she was a former member of the Slug Club so they were able to reminisce about her schooldays. But as much as Liv enjoyed catching up with Professor Slughorn, her eyes kept drifting towards the other end of the table where the pretty, black-haired woman who was Hogwarts’ newest Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.

Liv had felt like a silly schoolgirl stealing glances at Hestia Jones, wondering what she was saying that was making Professor Trelawney laugh so uproariously. When Hestia had finally noticed Liv looking across the staff table at her, she simply smiled and waved back. Mortified at being caught in the act, Liv had quickly averted her gaze and stared at her dinner plate while Professor Slughorn continued to chatter in her ear. She mentally berated herself for behaving no better than one of the students and endeavoured to act her age from now on.

Well, at least as soon as the first lesson began.

There was still a bit of time before classes were due to start, so she decided to take full advantage of her privacy and free time. Using her foot, she pushed herself further away from her desk and began spinning in circles in her swivel chair, grinning mischievously to herself as she twirled faster and faster on the spot. One of the benefits of having had her own office at the Ministry was that she could engage in this bit of harmless fun without anyone else being the wiser. Although, Dirk did join in on occasion and they would compete to see who could perform the most rotations off of one push without using magic.

“I’m not interrupting, am I?”

Liv squealed in surprise at the sudden interruption. She stopped the chair spinning so abruptly that it tipped over completely, sending her crashing onto the hard, flagstone floor. She instinctively threw her hand out to break the fall and a shooting pain shot up her arm as her hand struck the ground. It crossed her mind that she may have broken her wrist, but Liv momentarily forgot the pain when she heard the click of heels hurry across the classroom floor in her direction and, without warning, a strong pair of hands slipped under her armpits and pulled her unceremoniously into a sitting position.

“Merlin’s beard! Are you alright?”

The room was still spinning like a merry-go-round from whirling so many times in the swivel chair, but after a few moments her vision came back into focus and she found a concerned-looking Hestia Jones looming over her. Liv felt her cheeks flush hot with embarrassment and something else that she would rather not verbalise, and she became painfully aware of the large toothpaste stain on her robes.

“Oh, umm...hello,” she stammered, smiling nervously up at her unexpected guest. “Well, this is embarrassing.”

“Are you okay?” Hestia asked again, kneeling down beside her. “You didn’t bang your head, did you?”

“I’m fine,” Liv assured her, wincing as she tried to put pressure on her wrist. She inspected the damage and while, thankfully, it appeared as though no bones were broken, she had taken the skin clean off the palm of her hand. “Oh, bugger…”

Hestia sucked air through her teeth and grimaced. “That looks painful. Here, let me take a look at it.”

“I’m fine, honestly.”

Liv protested weakly but didn’t resist as Hestia took a careful but firm grip of her hand and lightly pressed the tip of her wand to the deep abrasion. “This might nip a bit. _Scourgify!”_

Liv grunted in pain as the wound was magically cleaned. Hestia muttered her apologies and quickly set to work conjuring a bandage and wrapping it around Liv’s hand.

“This should do the trick, but I’m no Healer. You might be better letting Madam Pomfrey take a look at it,” she said, tying the loose ends of the gauze into a neat bow. Liv experimentally flexed her fingers and wrist. It was still sore but not so bad that she couldn’t hold a wand.

“This looks good,” she said. “Thank you.”

Hestia smiled warmly at her. “No problem. I’m Hestia, by the way, Hestia Jones. Sorry, I haven’t even properly introduced myself and I’m already causing injuries to my fellow colleagues.”

“Oh no, the fault is mine!” Liv protested quickly. Without thinking, she thrust out her injured hand to Hestia then quickly dropped it before holding out the uninjured one instead. “Liv Tonks.”

“Nice to make your acquaintance,” Hestia replied, taking Liv’s hand into her own and giving it a firm shake. Without letting go of Liv’s hand, she asked, “Do you need a hand back up onto your feet?”

“Oh! Yes, thank you…”

Liv didn’t really need a hand getting to her feet, but she wasn’t inclined to turn down the offer. Hestia easily pulled Liv back onto her feet and finally released her hand from her warm grip.

“I did knock, you must not have heard me,” she said, waving towards the classroom door. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Yes, well as you can see I was occupied with important business,” Liv joked, lifting her chair off of the floor and pushing it back under the desk. Hestia chuckled.

“If it makes you feel any better, I like to do the same thing when I’m alone in my office,” she admitted. “Although, I recommend locking the door next time if you don’t want to get caught in the act.”

“Duly noted,” Liv muttered. “Well, now that embarrassing introductions are out of the way, how can I help you, Miss Jones?”

“Please, call me Hestia,” she implored. Liv couldn’t help but think what a pretty name that was.

“Hestia,” Liv motioned for the woman to take one of the chairs in the front row of the classroom while she slipped back into her own seat. “What can I do for you?”

Hestia sat on top of one of the student’s desks and shrugged. “Not much to be honest. I just figured since we’re both new here, it would be good to get formally introduced with each other. You see, I don’t know anyone else here apart from Professor McGonagall and you look like a nice person, so...well, I didn’t see you down at the Great Hall for breakfast this morning, so I thought I’d come down here and say hello.”

“Oh. Well, hello then,” Liv laughed nervously. Good lord, why couldn’t she just speak like a normal person in social situations? “Um...would you like a cup of tea?”

“Please,” Hestia replied with a slight nod. “So, today is your first day as a teacher, too? How are you feeling about it?”

Liv busied herself conjuring a teapot and pulling teabags and sugar out of one of her desk drawers. “Excited. Terrified. The usual emotions one feels when they decide to do something completely outwith their comfort zone.”

“I know how you feel,” Hestia commiserated. “Who’ve you got for your first class?”

“Year seven.”

Hestia grimaced. “Wow, that’ll be a tough crowd.”

“Yeah, I’m trying not to think about it too much,” Liv admitted, pouring tea into two china teacups.

“I’ve lucked out,” Hestia continued. “I’ve got first period on Wednesday morning free, then my day starts with some first-year students for a double period before we break for lunch.”

“You’ve taken up the Defence post, right?” asked Liv, although she already knew the answer.

“Yup,” said Hestia brightly. “Fingers crossed I last more than a year, eh?”

“Well, I wasn’t going to say anything about that, but yes, I hope you’ll be here with us for the foreseeable future,” she mused. Hestia laughed.

“I’m not one for believing in silly superstitions. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“What made you take up the post?” asked Liv, handing one of the teacups to Hestia.

“Needed the money,” she shrugged. “I’ve spent the last year working full-time for the Order of the Phoenix but now that Voldemort’s gone, I needed to look for a proper job. With Amycus and Alecto Carrow in Azkaban—good riddance—I knew that there were a couple of vacancies going here at the school. I’ve got more experience fighting than I do with Muggles, so I asked McGonagall about the Defence post and I guess she thought I’d be a good fit for the job.”

“You worked for the Order?” asked Liv interestedly.

“Sure did,” she confirmed, taking a sip from her cup.

“Then you must have known my cousin, Dora.”

Hestia lowered her cup onto her lap and smiled sadly at Liv. “Yeah, I knew her and Remus both pretty well. She...she was an amazing woman and a brilliant fighter. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Liv felt that familiar sharp pang of grief in her chest any time those she had loved and lost were mentioned. Although it upset her to speak about them, she couldn’t help but ask the question because the opportunity to hear a story or learn some insight about Dora’s secretive life in the Order was too great an opportunity to pass up. She blinked several times, trying to prevent the tears welling in her eyes from spilling over. Fixing a brittle smile across her face, she cleared her throat and nodded.

“Thank you,” she said in a strained voice. “She was an amazing person and a great friend...but I think the thing she was best at was being a mum.”

Hestia nodded solemnly. “I heard that she and Remus had a son.”

Liv smiled fondly. “Teddy. They named him after his grandfather. Would you like to see a picture of him?” Hestia nodded and Liv handed her one of the picture frames sitting on her desk. Hestia grinned at the photograph of the little baby sleeping peacefully in her mother’s arms while Remus beamed at the pair of them.

“He’s a handsome little fellow,” she noted, passing the photo frame back to Liv.

“Handsome with a double dose of mischievousness,” she laughed, carefully placing it back onto her desk. “We wouldn’t have expected any less, considering what Dora and Remus were like.”

They chatted a little more about their families as they drank their tea and she learned that Hestia, like Liv, was an only child, but being from a pureblood family she had spent her entire life in the wizarding world. Although she had relatively little knowledge or experience of Muggles, she seemed quite interested in what Liv had to say on the subject. She seemed particularly interested in the many Muggle books that Liv had filling the shelves that lined either side of the classroom. She ran an index finger along the spines of several books and pulled one out at random to inspect it more closely.

“This one looks interesting: _The Lord of the Rings_ by J.R.R. Tolkien,” she read aloud with a curious frown creasing her forehead. “What’s this about?”

“You’ve never read it?” asked Liv, sounding aghast. She stepped out from behind her desk and pulled another book from the shelf before marching over to Hestia. “It’s a wonderful book, about the never-ending struggle between good and evil. There are wizards, elves and dwarves in the story, too. Although they’re quite unlike the real thing, of course, it’s still fascinating to read magic from a Muggle perspective. If you’re interested in reading it, may I recommend you check this out first—only if you’d like to, of course…”

She held out a copy of _The Hobbit_ to Hestia, who slipped _Lord of the Rings_ back onto the bookshelf and took the proffered book from Liv’s hand.

“It’s by the same author,” she explained, unable to hide the enthusiasm in her voice. “Technically it’s a children’s book but it’s still one of my favourites.”

“There are dragons in this, too?” asked Hestia, admiring the artwork on the front cover of the book of the giant winged reptile surrounded by gold. Liv nodded vigorously.

“Oh yes! He’s one of the key characters in the story. Tolkien does a far better job of depicting dragons than most other magical beings, so it’s definitely worth a read.”

“You don’t mind me borrowing it?” asked Hestia.

“Not at all!” Liv assured her. “You’re welcome to borrow any of my books. It’ll be nice to have someone else to talk to about them; not many wizards are familiar with these titles.”

“Which is why you’ve brought them with you,” grinned Hestia. “To try and get the other students to read them?”

“‘Try’ being the operative word,” laughed Liv.

It seemed like no time had passed at all when the school bell rang signalling the start of classes. Liv’s previous trepidations were all but gone now; whether Hestia realised it or not, she had done a fine job of distracting Liv for the past hour. But now that the first lesson of the day was finally due to start, Liv was rather reluctant to see her go. Hestia tucked the book under her arm and gave Liv a big smile.

“Alas, duty calls,” she lamented. “Well, best of luck with your first lesson.”

“Yeah, you too.”

“I’ll see you down at the Great Hall for lunch, yeah?” Hestia waved her off and strolled out of the classroom just as the first students began to arrive. Liv felt a little breathless from her chat with Hestia, but she had no time to think about it as the classroom began to fill with students. The first to arrive was a bushy-haired girl that Liv immediately recognised from the newspapers: Hermione Granger, clutching an armful of books was chatting animatedly to two other girls, Ginny Weasley and Luna Lovegood. The three of them took their seats at the very front of the classroom and proceeded to pull out parchment and ink as they continued to chat amongst themselves. They were closely followed by Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Neville Longbottom, all of whom opted to sit together at the very back of the class. McGonagall had warned her that despite Harry’s technical abilities, he wasn’t necessarily the most studious. Liv wasn’t inclined to worry about that since she had a few tricks up her sleeve to ensure every student in her class would participate.

The classroom gradually filled with Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs and additional Gryffindors, some of them casting wary glances in Liv’s direction as she pretended to busy herself with sorting through her notes. She couldn’t blame them for being cautious of her considering their last Muggle Studies professor was a Death Eater; she knew that she faced an uphill battle to earn their trust. The last students to turn up were the Slytherins, all of whom looked as though they would rather be anywhere in the world than in that classroom. Finally, just as Liv was about to close the classroom door and begin the lesson, a tall boy with platinum blonde hair strolled in and slipped into an empty chair nearest the exit. With a bored sneer fixed across his face, he crossed his arms and stared straight ahead, not even bothering to put parchment or a quill onto his desk like the other students. She recognised Draco Malfoy from the papers as well, although for rather different reasons than Harry Potter.

A silence fell over the class as she rose to her feet and smiled at them.

“Good morning everyone,” she said with an air of confidence that she didn’t feel. “Welcome to Muggle Studies. My name is Professor Tonks, and I’ll be teaching this course.”

The students greeted her in a monotonous, unenthusiastic chorus, “Good morning, Professor Tonks.”

Liv resisted the temptation to roll her eyes then since she remembered, all too well, greeting teachers with the same level of enthusiasm when she was at school. Stepping out from behind her desk, she began to slowly pace back and forth in front of the class.

“I’ll tell you a little bit about myself before we begin, shall I? Like you, I used to be a student here at Hogwarts, though that was a few more years ago now than I care to admit. I’m curious, how many Slytherins do we have in the class?” A couple of hands were tentatively raised and Liv’s smile broadened. “Good to see a few fellow Slytherins in our midst!”

She thought that little tidbit would get a reaction and she was proven right when the Slytherins exchanged surprised looks while a few students muttered disapprovingly to one another. However, Liv chose to ignore the mixed response to this revelation and continued with her introduction.

“During my time at Hogwarts, I was a member of the Muggle Book Club and the Thespian Society—are those clubs still running? No? That’s disappointing. Well, after I graduated, I spent a few years working for MACUSA at the Office for Magic Relations and Education—yes, the job was as boring as it sounds…”

Some of the students, like Hermione and Luna, took notes as Liv summarised her credentials, but the majority of the class appeared to have already tuned her out. Ron yawned and scratched his head while Harry was paying more attention to Draco Malfoy than anything Liv had to say. While it was important to introduce herself and offer personable details, clearly it wasn’t holding their attention. Not to worry. She’d certainly be grabbing their waning attention when she got around to unveiling the big plan she had in store for them. Liv paused and leant against her desk before speaking in a more serious tone.

“I think that’s quite enough about me. Before I begin to outline our lesson plan for the upcoming year, I just want to make something clear, particularly for those of you who were unfortunate enough to be in Alecto Carrow’s class last year: let me assure you that things will be quite different from now on. I’m here to teach you, not hurt you. Differences in opinion will not be punished and any disputes will be resolved with constructive arguments, not wands. Understood?”

“Yes, Professor,” the classroom replied in a muted chorus. Liv smiled warmly at them.

“Alright then. Now let me start by saying that I know a few of you won’t have taken this subject before. Some of you may even have no experience of the Muggle world at all…” A strangled sound came from the back of the classroom and Liv saw the panic-stricken expression written across Neville Longbottom’s face. “Let me assure you now that you have nothing to worry about. Nobody in this class is going to be left struggling or fall behind. We’re all here to help each other.”

Liv continued to speak but watched out of the corner of her eye as Harry leaned forward and patted Neville reassuringly on the shoulder before whispering in his ear. Neville listened intently, nodded vigorously and appeared to relax a little.

“While I will be adopting certain elements of Professor Burbage’s old lesson plans, I will be including some newer elements to the curriculum. One thing Professor Burbage and I have in common is a passion for the Muggle world, which was why I was so keen to take up this position. I have a lot of experience in Muggle-Wizard interpersonal relations, and my hope this year is to share my knowledge and expertise with you all.”

Liv couldn’t help but notice that Draco Malfoy, although his expression remained impassive, shifted uncomfortably in his seat at the mention of the former Muggle Studies professor. She wasn’t sure what to make of his reaction considering he hadn’t been one of Professor Burbage’s students. Pushing her curiosity to the back of her mind, she focused on the task at hand. Picking up a piece of chalk, she began scribbling notes across the blackboard.

“Traditionally, Muggle Studies has focused on the history and daily lives of Muggles and how they are able to live without magic. This year we’re going to apply greater emphasis on understanding Muggle society from a historical and sociological perspective. There will also be more practical elements integrated into the course; combining both these written and practical lessons will be essential to passing this course…”

The sound of quills scratching on parchment filled the otherwise silent classroom as Liv proceeded to outline her lesson plan for the year, explaining what subjects they would be covering and advising them on which books they ought to read. Glancing at the clock overhead, she was surprised to see that she only had ten minutes left until the end of the lesson. Turning back to face the class, she smiled mischievously at her students: it was finally time to unveil her big plan.

“While the classwork will be comprised largely of written essays, as I mentioned before, this year we are introducing a unique practical element to the course.” She grabbed a worn, dog-eared book off of her desk and held it aloft for all of the class to see. “Who here is familiar with the playwright, William Shakespeare?”

Not surprisingly, her query was met with silence. Only Hermione Granger’s hand shot up into the air. Liv struggled to suppress a grin at how enthusiastically Hermione was waving her hand in the air.

“Miss...Granger, correct?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“What can you tell me about him?”

Hermione lowered her hand and took a deep breath before answering, “William Shakespeare, also known as The Bard or The Bard of Avon, is considered to be the greatest poet who ever lived. Born in Stratford-upon-Avon in 1564, he was a prolific writer during the Elizabethan age of English theatre. Some of his most famous plays include _Macbeth_ —or _The Scottish Play—Hamlet, Othello, Twelfth Night—”_

“Thank you, Miss Granger,” Liv cut Hermione off mid-sentence, sure that if she hadn’t done so she would have easily rhymed off the full works and life of Shakespeare. “That is exactly right, thank you for such a detailed answer.”

A few of the students rolled their eyes at Hermione but she took no notice of them. She looked quite pleased at receiving such high praise.

“Not only is William Shakespeare considered one of, if not the greatest, Muggle playwrights, he is also perhaps one of the most famous Muggles who ever lived.” Liv tossed the book back onto her desk and turned back to her students. “On that note, I have a special announcement to make, one that I think that you’ll all be happy to hear. Unlike your other classes, there will be no formal written exam for Muggle Studies this year.”

Hermione looked thunderstruck while several other students cheered and applauded this news. Neville looked visibly relieved while Draco didn’t react at all. Liv thought that news would go over well with most of them.

“In place of a traditional written exam, we will be putting on a full production of William Shakespeare’s most famous play, _Romeo and Juliet,”_ she said brightly.

A stunned silence followed that announcement.

“Excuse me, Professor Tonks...” Hermione’s hand shot up into the air again. “I’m not sure that I heard you correctly...did you say that instead of a written exam, we are to put on a play?”

“Of Shakespeare’s _Romeo and Juliet,”_ Liv confirmed with a nod. “To be performed in front of the school.”

_“What?”_

The classroom erupted into shouts of outrage and protest. Neville looked as though he were on the verge of collapse. Even Hermione, who had a reputation as the most studious person in her year, looked mortified at the prospect.

“You can’t be serious!” Pansy Parkinson cried.

“I am,” Liv confirmed calmly. “Moreover, the production of this play is to be done the _Muggle_ way. That means no magic will be used in the creation of costumes, makeup, set pieces or lighting. Yes, Miss Granger, do you have another question?”

Hermione lowered her hand again and asked tentatively, “I’m sorry Professor but...what relevance does _Romeo and Juliet_ have to Muggle Studies?”

“A fair question,” she replied. “It might seem like a strange choice because, as you say, this is Muggle Studies and not a drama club. However, it’s one thing to learn about Muggle culture between the pages of books but to live it is another thing entirely. Shakespeare had a unique gift of faithfully representing human nature in his plays, something that Muggles and wizards alike have pondered on since we first developed self-concept. I believe that studying, learning and reenacting one of Shakespeare’s finest works will present the perfect opportunity for all of you to immerse yourselves in Muggle history and culture. Furthermore, the story’s themes are timeless: Love. Hate. Judgement. Conflict. Concepts that each of us struggle with in our daily lives. Reading and analyzing Shakespeare’s work will provide a greater insight into Muggle society both in a historical and a contemporary setting. And if nothing else, it presents a unique opportunity for all four houses to work together on a single project and to learn new practical skills.”

This explanation seemed to somewhat appease Hermione, but the majority of the classroom still looked confused and annoyed at what Liv was asking of them. This time Ron Weasley raised his hand.

“Miss, do we need to do this?” he asked.

“Participation in this project is compulsory,” Liv confirmed, ignoring further groans of protest. “Anyone who wishes to graduate with a N.E.W.T. level Muggle Studies qualification must participate. No exceptions.”

“That’s not fair!” moaned Zacharias Smith. Liv shrugged.

“How I choose to teach this class and the format of examination is to my discretion,” she replied evenly. “But if it will put your minds at ease, Professor McGonagall has already signed off on the project.”

Some students still grumbled under their breaths, but the protest was somewhat muted now that they knew the headmistress was on board with Liv’s plan. She gathered a large bundle of scripts from her desk and began distributing them to each of the reluctant students.

“Auditions for acting roles will begin on Friday,” she explained. “I have printed out three scenes from the play. In groups of three and four, I want you to choose one of these scenes and practice it—memorise it if you can—and then you will perform it in front of the class in our next lesson. If anyone is interested in doing one of the other roles—costume makers, set designers—please come see me during my office hours to discuss it further.”

The bell rang signalling the end of class and the sound of scraping chairs on the flagstone floor filled the classroom as students rose to their feet. Liv watched as they filed out of the classroom, quietly amused as several students cast her mutinous glances as they left. She knew that her proposal was a daunting one, but she was sure, in time, that they would come around to the idea. Shakespeare, much like the Veela, had a way of enchanting anyone who crossed his path.

Relieved to have survived her first ever lesson as a Hogwarts professor, she snatched up her handbag from under her desk and slung it over her shoulder. She had a free period before her next class and decided to reward herself with a quick bite to eat in the school kitchens. However, just as she was about to leave the classroom, she paused as she noticed that one of the scripts that she had handed out remained sat on one of the desks untouched. Luckily, she had anticipated something like this happening and had prepared accordingly. Lifting the script, she drew her wand and muttered, “Revelio” and the owner of the discarded script appeared at the bottom of the front page.

“No surprise there…” she muttered to herself.

She hastily scribbled a note on the front page of the script, tapped it with her wand again, and a moment later the script began to flap its pages like the wings of a bird before it soared out of the classroom and down the corridor out of sight.


	9. Chapter 9

“I’m not doing it,” Ron declared, brandishing his script in the air. “I don’t care what she says, there’s absolutely no way I’m acting in a stupid play.”

Harry, Ron and Hermione walked down the busy corridor in the direction of the greenhouses for their first Herbology lesson of the year. Several of their fellow classmates had voiced their own reservations at the prospect of performing in the play, but predictably Hermione was not one of them.

“She said that it’s compulsory, Ron,” she pointed out, flipping through the pages of her own copy. “Whether you like it or not doesn’t matter: if you refuse to participate, you’ll fail the class and you won’t get your Muggle Studies qualification.”

Ron scoffed, “And? It’s not like I need it. Once I graduate I’m going to help George run the joke shop. I don’t need a Muggle Studies N.E.W.T. to do that.”

“Why on earth did you come back to school if you had no intention of actually learning anything?” she asked, sounding aghast. Ron shrugged.

“I thought it would be fun just to have a year where we got to piss about,” he admitted. “Plus, Harry said he was coming back and I wanted to keep him company. Oh, and you, of course...”

Hermione looked furious at this admission. “You really are the pits, you know that?”

“What’s the big deal?” he asked. “I thought you’d be happy I came back!”

Harry quickened his pace and broke away from his two best friends as they proceeded to argue with each other. He’d spent enough years being stuck in the middle of their arguments and he had no intention of getting dragged into a lovers’ quarrel. He spotted Ginny further along the corridor talking to Neville and Luna. If he hurried, he might be able to catch up with them...

“I expect you’ll be putting yourself forward for the starring role in the play, eh Potter?” drawled Draco, stepping up beside Harry. “You can’t resist the temptation to be the centre of attention at any given opportunity.”

Harry suppressed a groan of annoyance and sped up his pace to try and get away from him, but Draco managed to keep up with Harry and they marched side by side along the corridor.

“The only person I know who craves being the centre of attention is you, Malfoy,” Harry retorted.

“At least I’m willing to admit it,” Draco countered. “You like to pretend that you hate it, but I know deep down you get your jollies out of everyone cheering you on. Whether it be on the Quidditch Pitch or the battlefield, it doesn’t matter so long as everyone is singing your praises.”

“Piss off, Malfoy.”

“Make me.”

“Haven’t you got anything better to do with your time than harass me?” asked Harry irritably. Draco’s trademark smug grin spread across his face.

“Not particularly,” he shrugged. “As I said before, I enjoy pushing your buttons. You’re so easy to wind up that it’s impossible to resist. See you later, Scarhead.”

As they entered the entrance hall, Draco veered off to the right and up the grand staircase, leaving Harry glaring after him. Harry had met a lot of awful people in his life but Draco Malfoy was, without a doubt, the most infuriating person that he had ever met. Well, at least he didn’t have to put up with him during Herbology—it was bad enough sitting across from him in Muggle Studies. Harry couldn’t understand why Draco had even bothered turning up for the class since the smug git didn’t even pretend to be doing any of the work. Hopefully, they didn’t have any other classes together because the less time they spent in each other’s company, the better...

Still, if Draco wasn’t taking Herbology this year, Harry was curious about what he was doing instead. Wherever Draco was going, he was heading there in a hurry. Wondering where Draco was sneaking off to this time, Harry rummaged through his school bag for the Marauder’s Map. Hermione and Ron caught up with Harry then, their argument still in full swing. Ron threw his arm around Harry’s shoulders and pulled him towards the main entrance.

“What do you think of this Shakespeare malarky?” he asked. “I’ve never even heard of the bloke before.”

“Oh, what a surprise,” Hermione mocked.

“Dunno,” said Harry distractedly, still clutching the map. “I mean, I’ve heard of him before but I haven’t read anything he’s written.”

 _“What?”_ Hermione drew Harry an incredulous look. “How is that even possible? You were raised by Muggles, surely you must have learnt about him in school?”

“The Dursleys weren’t exactly connoisseurs of the theatre,” he explained. “I almost saw one of his plays once: my school arranged for everyone to go and see _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_ the week before the summer holidays, but the play had magic in it, so naturally I wasn’t allowed to see it.”

“Oh, Harry…”

Harry felt a swell of embarrassment rise up in him at the sympathetic look Hermione drew him. It was easy to forget that his upbringing had been far from normal, but he was reminded of just how abnormal it was by comparison whenever his friends spoke about their own family experiences, which were so different and so much happier than his own. Desperate to change the subject, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“Malfoy’s such smug prick,” he complained. “You won’t believe what he just said to me…”

Hermione and Ron both groaned in response to this comment and, mercifully, the conversation steered away from Harry onto more mundane topics. Sitting down at one of the free stools in Greenhouse Seven, Harry immediately unfolded the Marauder’s Map under the desk and began scanning it for Draco’s name, only vaguely paying attention to Professor Sprout mentioning something about fire seed bushes and dragonhide gloves. He checked the usual places that he might find Draco—the Slytherin Common Room, the kitchens—and just as Harry was beginning to suspect that Draco was either off campus or in the Room of Requirement, he spotted his name in a wholly unexpected place. And yet there he was, sat in one of the cubicles in the girl’s lavatory on the second floor.

What the hell was Draco Malfoy doing in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom?

* * *

“You came back.”

“Yeah,” Draco said quietly. “I came back.”

“After Professor Dumbledore died and you ran away...I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

“Me neither,” he admitted. “But life has a funny way of proving us wrong.”

“Don’t talk to me about life,” Myrtle snivelled. “At least you can leave if you want. Fifty years I’ve been stuck in this school with nobody to talk to. Except you, of course. I’ve missed our little chats, Draco.”

“Well, at least someone missed me,” he muttered.

Draco’s return to Hogwarts had been worse than he had expected. The other Slytherins had pointedly ignored him during the welcoming feast but at least he had a plateful of delicious food to keep him occupied, although he hadn’t had much of an appetite. The worst moment was when he had entered the boys’ dormitory and all of his former friends acted as though he were invisible, chatting amongst themselves and walking past him as though he weren’t even there. It was difficult to pretend that this behaviour didn’t bother him so he had forgone his usual nighttime rituals and instead had made quick work stripping off his school clothes and drawing the curtains around his bed. He had lain awake most of the night, shame and loneliness eating away at him, wishing that he was at home in the Manor. He hadn’t felt this homesick since his very first night at Hogwarts, but at least then he’d had his friends. This time, he was completely alone. The only person who had the courage to look him in the eye since he’d arrived was Harry, but then they were hardly friends.

Well, he supposed that he could always talk to Myrtle.

“That battle was really exciting, though, wasn’t it?” Myrtle’s tone was inappropriately merry considering the subject matter. “There were so many explosions—and giants! I’ve never seen giants before. I thought for sure that they would knock the whole school to the ground. And there was so much death...I’m surprised that more ghosts didn’t appear afterwards. I could certainly do with the company.”

“Can we talk about something else?” Draco replied stiffly. The last thing that he needed right now was to relive one of the worst days of his life.

“Sorry,” Myrtle replied mildly. “After you’ve been dead for a few decades, you can’t help but let your perspective on life—or death, whatever—become a little morbid.” Myrtle slid off of the cistern that she had been perched upon and floated down in front of Draco. “Don’t take this the wrong way but I’m sorry that you didn’t die during the battle.”

Draco cocked an eyebrow at her. “I think there’s a compliment in there somewhere.”

“It _is_ a compliment,” she assured him. “There aren’t many people I’d happily share my toilet with for all eternity. Just so you know, when you _do_ die, if you choose to stay behind, you’re always welcome here.”

Draco gave her a wry smile. “Thanks, Myrtle. You’re certainly not the first person who wished me dead but you’re the only one who still enjoys my company, so I’ll keep my options open.”

Draco stilled then as he heard the bathroom door creak open. Most people tended to avoid this particular bathroom because of Myrtle—it was this guarantee of isolation from everyone else that had made this location so appealing to Draco—so it was unlikely that someone had wandered in by mistake, and he doubted that anyone wanted to spend quality time with the mopey ghost. No, the most likely explanation was that someone was here to cause him trouble, and that was the last thing that Draco needed.

Draco strained his ears and frowned in confusion as he heard what sounded like the fluttering of wings. Curious, he stuck his head out of the cubicle to see if a bird had flown into the bathroom and was surprised to see what, at first glance, appeared to be a large seagull soaring towards him. A bundle of white paper flew into his outstretched hand and he tutted as he recognised it as the script of _Romeo and Juliet_ that Professor Tonks had given him.

“What’s that?” asked Myrtle curiously, hovering over Draco’s shoulder. Her eyes lit up when she read the title. “Ooh, you’re reading _Romeo and Juliet_?”

“You’ve heard of it?” he asked.

“Of course I’ve heard of it!” she shook her head in disbelief. “And I suppose you haven’t? Honestly, you purebloods are nothing but a bunch of uncultured swine…”

“If I wanted to be insulted by people I can easily spend my time elsewhere,” he grumbled.

“All I mean is that you’re really missing out on a great story,” she argued. “The play is set in Verona—that’s in Italy.”

“I know that,” said Draco defensively, but Myrtle continued as though she hadn’t heard his outburst.

“Romeo and Juliet are from wealthy and noble families, the Montagues and the Capulets. They both attend a masquerade ball and when Romeo sees Juliet for the first time, he instantly falls in love with her, and she with him. But here’s the problem—their families are sworn enemies! But they’re so in love that they don’t care about that, so they get decide to get married in secret...”

“Sounds boring,” Draco said, earning himself a glare from Myrtle.

“It’s not boring!” she snapped. “It’s romantic. And that’s not even the best part.”

“Which is..?”

“Their love is doomed and the lovers die at the end of the play, in each other's arms.” Myrtle sighed dreamily, her pale, misty eyes glazing over.

“I can see why you’d enjoy that,” he smirked. He looked down at the script and noticed that there was a note scribbled at the bottom of the front page:

 

_Dear Mr Malfoy,_

_Please come see me in my office immediately._

_Kind Regards,_

_Professor Tonks_

 

“I’d rather not,” he muttered to himself, tossing the script into the nearest bin.

“What did you do that for?” Myrtle yelled. She flew over to the bin and tried to scoop the script out but, predictably, her hand went straight through it.

“Cheesy romance might be your thing, Myrtle, but it certainly isn’t mine,” said Draco. “I’ve got better things to be doing with my time than reading—OUCH!”

Draco was cut off mid-sentence as the discarded script had flown out of the bin, rolled itself up into a tube and proceeded to beat him about the head. In a panic, Draco ran out of the cubicle with his arms covering his head, but the script kept hitting him on the arms.

“Ouch! Shit! Help me, Myrtle!”

“I don’t know what you expect me to do about it. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m dead,” she huffed, crossing her arms. “And even if I could help, I wouldn’t. You deserve that for throwing it in the bin.”

“Some friend you are,” he snarled, fleeing the bathroom with the script in hot pursuit. He stumbled down the corridor shouting, “Alright! I’m going! Just stop hitting me!”

The script immediately ceased its assault but hovered ominously over his head as he stalked down the corridor towards Professor Tonks’s office. When it felt like he was dawdling, it nudged him on the shoulder, encouraging him to get a move on. Draco tried taking a swipe at it the first time it did this but it dodged his attack and struck him on the back of the hand. Draco gritted his teeth in anger and frustration but kept his hands to himself after that.

When he reached Professor Tonks’s office he stormed inside without bothering to knock and found his Muggle Studies professor sat at her desk mid-bite into an enormous turkey sandwich.

“Mr Malfoy,” with a mouthful of food she gave Draco a mumbled greeting and motioned for him to take a seat in front of her desk. “Thank you for coming to see me.”

“It’s not as if you gave me a choice!” he snapped, tossing his bag onto the floor and flopping down into the seat in front of him. The script glided over his head and plopped onto his lap, appearing quite benign now. Liv took a quick swig from her mug of tea before holding out a plate of turkey sandwiches to him.

“Want one?” she offered.

“No,” he replied shortly.

Liv shrugged and set the plate back onto her desk. “Suit yourself. I actually wanted to have a word with you at the end of the lesson, but you left the classroom in such a hurry that you even forgot your script.”

“What did you want to speak to me about?” he asked suspiciously. Liv laced her fingers together on top of the desk and smiled at him.

“How’s your father doing these days?” she asked politely. Draco frowned at her.

“Why do you care?”

“Just curious,” she replied lightly. “We went to school together, you know. He was a couple of years ahead of me but I knew him through the Slug Club. And we’ve crossed paths from time to time at the Ministry.”

Draco snorted, “And?”

“And...clearly I’m wasting my time making polite conversation with you,” she noted, leaning back in her chair. “Alright, I’ll be frank with you: in this morning’s lesson, you didn’t engage in class at all. I gave you the benefit of the doubt and put your reluctance to participate down to the fact that it’s a subject that you’re unfamiliar with. But you obviously left your script behind on purpose, and now I’m concerned that this is a pattern of behaviour I’ve to expect for the rest of the year. Personally, I prefer to tackle a problem head-on, so I invited you here to have a little chat about what’s expected of you in my lessons. I have to ask: do you have an issue with the curriculum that I’ve set out?”

Draco gave a derisive laugh. “Alright, since we’re being frank with each other...no, I don’t have a problem with your class. I just don’t care about it.”

Liv raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Really? Well, that’s refreshingly honest to hear.”

“What else do you want me to say?” he challenged. “Do I look like the sort of person who’s going to be making friends with Muggles anytime soon?”

“I don’t see why not,” she shrugged, although she didn’t look like she really believed that, either. “You never know what life has in store for you.”

Draco drew her a withering look. He had a fairly good idea what his life had in store for him after he left Hogwarts and the last thing that it involved was spending time with Muggles.

“Well, regardless of whether or not you care about my subject, attendance is compulsory. While you’re my student, I expect you to participate during lessons—that includes completing homework assignments like reading this script,” she reminded him.

“I don’t understand why I should waste my time on a subject that is of no use to me,” he argued.

“Well, have you ever flown in an aeroplane?” she inquired. “Or been to the cinema to watch a film, or listened to Prokofiev—do you even know who Prokofiev is? No? Well, wouldn’t it be better for you to experience some of these things first-hand before dismissing them? Then you can decide whether or not they’re of any use to you.”

Draco gritted his teeth and felt his temper bubbling dangerously close to the surface. Other people might have found her genial nature endearing, but he just found her infuriating. Why wouldn’t she just take the hint and leave him alone? No, she had to drag him into her office and pester him about “class participation” in her poxy class. It was like she wanted to make his life more difficult than it already was. Merlin, he could just imagine the look on his father’s face if he caught his son reading Muggle books, let alone acting in a Muggle play.

Thinking about his father only made him angrier. Despite Draco’s protests, his parents had insisted that he return to Hogwarts; while he was forced to endure constant humiliation from the student body, they got to hide in the safety and seclusion of the Manor. It wasn’t fair. At least his mother had cared enough to see him off at the train station, but Lucius Malfoy had barely left his study in months. Draco didn’t understand what his father was doing, whiling away the hours with nothing but his books for company. Evidently, whatever he was doing was more important than saying goodbye to his only son.

Draco tried pushing thoughts of his father out of his mind but couldn’t suppress the mounting feelings of anger, shame and inadequacy from rising up inside of him. Liv was still talking but he couldn’t hear her over the loud ringing in his ears. Draco clenched his hands together into tight fists and he felt the last of his resolve finally snap, his anger bursting out of him like a Blast-Ended Skrewt.

“Shut up!” he snapped.

Suddenly, the mug on Liv’s desk exploded and shards of ceramic flew in all directions, drenching the desk in tea. Liv jumped in fright and immediately attempted to mop up the mess with the sleeve of her robes but then, seemingly remembering that she was a witch, drew her wand and vanished the broken mug and spilt tea in the blink of an eye.

“Mr Malfoy!” she chided, pocketing her wand again. “That outburst was completely unnecessary—”

“I wouldn’t have lost my temper if you hadn’t been haranguing me,” he snarled.

“I’m not trying to harangue you,” she implored. “I only want to help you!”

“Help me? You don’t even know me!” Draco had had enough. Enough of Liv patronising him, enough of this school and everybody in it. He realised then that Liv wasn’t going to back off unless he made her. Leaning forward he sneered at his professor. “Don’t you get it? I don’t want your help. I’m not interested in anything that you have to say about Muggles or Shakespeare or what you think is worth my time. You say that you know my father. Well, then you’ll know what his views are on your lot: that Mudblood lovers like you are a disgrace to the name of wizard.”

Anger flashed across her face when he said that. _Good,_ he thought viciously. He wanted to make her angry. Hopefully, he could make her so angry that she would kick him out of her stupid class—maybe she would go to McGonagall and demand that he be kicked out of the school if he was lucky. That way, he could just go home.

“Muggle Studies is a soft subject for soft minds and I don’t intend to waste another second of my life on it,” he tossed the script onto Liv’s desk. “So you can take your script and your subject and stick it up your arse.”

An unbearably tense silence followed that little speech and Draco waited for Liv to explode—he was even willing to risk being transfigured into a ferret again if it guaranteed him a train ride home. Liv’s jaw was so tense with anger that it appeared to be taking all of her willpower not to toss a barrage of curses—verbal and magical—in Draco’s face.

“You sound just like your father when you speak like that,” she finally said in a low voice. “Yes, I knew your father very well. He made his views abundantly clear to anyone unfortunate enough to cross his path, like it was something to be proud of. He thought he was too important and too clever to learn anything that he didn’t think was worth his time. But I’m not interested in hearing about your father’s views, I want to hear yours.”

Draco blinked. “My views...but I just told you—”

“You just repeated to me verbatim the same old claptrap that your father has spouted for years,” Liv cut in. “But I’m not interested in what he thinks about my subject. He isn’t my student; you are. You’re not a mouthpiece for your father, Draco. You are your own person and are capable of forming your own thoughts and opinions on things without his input. Or am I wrong?”

“I—no,” Draco stammered. This wasn’t the direction he thought that this conversation would go and he felt ill-prepared to answer. “Obviously I can think for myself!”

“Really?” she asked, sounding unconvinced. “Then whose idea was it for you to return to Hogwarts—yours or your parents?”

Draco didn’t answer. His silence seemed to confirm Liv’s suspicions.

“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Because it’s what your parents expect of you. It’s clear that you’re not happy about returning and under the circumstances, I can understand why,” she continued. “It will be of no interest to you to hear this, but I know from personal experience what it feels like to be afraid of disappointing your parents. We often end up doing things that are expected of us but seldom do what makes us happy.”

Draco crossed his arms and stared at his lap, saying nothing. Yes, he knew all too well what that was like, but he wasn’t inclined to admit it.

“You might not want to be here but I’m not convinced by this front that you’re putting up, acting like you don’t care about anything. Whether you admit it or not, I think that you care very much about what people think about you, about your grades—”

“I don’t!” he protested. “I don’t care. I don’t know if you’ve forgotten but until fairly recently there was a war going on! I’ve had more important things to worry about than some stupid bloody Muggle Studies class.”

“I can’t argue with that,” she relented. “During the war, survival took precedence over everything else. But you used to care—at least you did up until the end of your fifth year. I’ve seen your student records and you’ve always been an excellent student: top marks in all of your classes, with a particular aptitude in Defence Against the Dark Arts and Potions.”

“That was before,” he argued.

“Before what?” she asked.

 _Before what?!_ he thought. Before The Dark Lord came back and screwed up his entire life, perhaps? Before he’d spent a solid year repairing that fucking vanishing cabinet under threat of death. Before Dumbledore was killed on the Astronomy Tower and he’d had to flee for his life. Before Charity Burbage pleaded for her life and was murdered before his very eyes and was consumed by that monstrous snake. Before his schoolmates were imprisoned and tortured and killed and Draco could see no end to the madness. Before Crabbe burnt to death, nearly taking Draco and the others with him. Before he faced public humiliation in front of the Wizengamot, escaping a prison sentence in Azkaban by the skin of his teeth. Before the looks of disgust and slew of insults that now followed him wherever he went. Before the last of his friends abandoned him. Before he realised that he was just a stupid boy way out of his depth with no means of escape.

 _Before what?_ she had asked.

“Everything,” he shrugged, refusing to elaborate any further. Liv sighed wearily and scrutinised Draco in silence for a few moments before speaking again.

“Here’s what I think,” she began. “Obviously you didn’t want to return to Hogwarts but you’re here now. As I see it, you have two options—you could take advantage of your time here, knuckle down and get some qualifications under your belt...or you can leave.”

Draco blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Either you go to Professor McGonagall and tell her that you wish to withdraw from the school since you’re old enough now to make that decision on your own. Or you stick it out, whether it’s for love of learning or because it’s the last thing that people expect you to do. Whatever your motivation is, at least you won’t leave here empty-handed.”

“Shouldn’t you be telling me that I ought to stay in school?” he asked.

“Of course I’d prefer you to stay but I’m not Voldemort…” Draco flinched when Liv said the name, but she carried on as though she hadn’t noticed. “And I’m not your father—I’m not going to tell you what to think or what you should do with your life. I’ll give you the best advice that I can and it’s up to you to take on board or disregard what I say. I just think that this little game of self-sabotage benefits no-one, least of all you.”

Draco wasn’t sure what to say to that. With a jolt of shock, he realised that no-one had ever given him a choice—a real choice—in anything before. His entire life had always been mapped out for him: what school he attended, what subjects he took, who his friends were...Merlin, even his death had been pre-planned, although it was only by a sheer miracle that the last one hadn’t come to fruition (no small thanks to Snape and Harry). Now, finally presented with the opportunity to choose for himself, he didn’t know what to do.

“The choice is yours. But, if you do choose to stay, you will continue to attend my class and I expect active participation.” Liv picked the discarded script up off of her desk and offered it to him. “All I ask of you in return is to listen to what I have to say and come to your own conclusions.”

Tentatively, he took the script from Liv’s hand.

“I still haven’t decided what I’m going to do yet…” he warned her.

“You need time to think about your options.” Liv nodded. “I understand. Well, just a reminder then that our next lesson is scheduled for nine o’clock on Friday morning. I hope to see you there, Mr Malfoy.”

Taking that as his cue to leave, Draco picked his school bag up off the floor and left Liv’s office feeling a little shell-shocked. Of all the things he had expected to happen when he was summoned to her office, rethinking his lacklustre approach to his education was at the bottom of a very long list of possibilities. Draco briefly considered the possibility that she had performed a Confundus charm on him, making him more amenable to her suggestions, but immediately dismissed the theory.

He stood in the deserted corridor with the script still in hand, trying to make up his mind what he should do next: should he turn left towards the Headmistress’s office and just get this over with? He’d been desperate to go home since the moment he’d set foot on the Hogwarts Express. But if he was so desperate to leave, why was this such a difficult choice to make?

Despite his feelings, Draco hadn’t really seriously considered leaving Hogwarts. His plan was just to muddle through the next year as best he could (more because he wanted to get his parents off his back than for any great love of learning). But Professor Tonks, loath as Draco was to admit it, had raised some valid points. When Draco chose to apply himself, he was pretty good at most subjects. He knew that as a former Death Eater, his job prospects after graduating were limited but it would be a shame to waste his talents while he had the chance to use them. And so what if everyone hated him—that was nothing new—did he really want to give everyone the satisfaction of watching him scarpering out of Hogwarts with his tail between his legs? Wouldn’t it be much more satisfying to be a Billywig in their bonnet?

Yes, watching everyone be driven to distraction by his successes would be incredibly satisfying. Everything else aside, this was Draco’s last opportunity to annoy Harry Potter as much as possible before they would part ways, probably forever. It seemed like too good an opportunity to pass up.

Draco turned right in the direction of the Great Hall, supposing that there was no harm in practising some lines of this silly play with Myrtle...


	10. Chapter 10

When Harry had decided to return to Hogwarts, he promised himself two things: that he would try to stay out of trouble and that he would make more of an effort to study. But despite his good intentions, only two days into the start of the new term, he had already managed to fail on both counts.

The morning was fairly uneventful: he sat in the Great Hall having breakfast, nose deep in the latest issue of _Seeker Weekly,_ when Hermione cleared her throat to get his attention. He glanced up over the top of his magazine to look at her.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but that doesn’t look like the script that Professor Tonks gave us to revise,” she said accusingly.

“No, it’s something infinitely more interesting than that,” he quipped, lifting the magazine again to block Hermione’s disapproving face from view. Unfortunately, it did nothing to block out the sound of her voice.

“Don’t you think you two ought to be rehearsing for the auditions?” she asked, casting a judgemental eye over Ron who still looked half-asleep as he ate his porridge.

“We have been rehearsing,” Harry lied.

“When?”

“Last night.”

“No, you weren’t. You spent the entire evening playing Exploding Snap!”

“We rehearsed while we played cards,” he countered, glad that he had the magazine to cover his atrocious poker face.

“Well, Hermione, Luna and I were rehearsing last night,” said Ginny, looking up from the copy of her own script. “The story’s not bad, actually. I’m interested to know what happens in the end.”

“What scene are you practising?” asked Harry. Ginny glanced at the script again.

“Act two, scene two,” she replied. “Capulet’s Orchard. Hermione is playing Romeo, I’m Juliet and Luna is the Nurse.”

Ron peered at Ginny’s script and snorted. “Very clever of Luna to pick the role with the least amount of lines.”

“She speaks twice,” Ginny pointed out. “Here and...here.”

Ron laughed. “So her lines are that she says ‘Madam’ twice. I think you two have been conned into doing all the hard work.”

“The Nurse’s role might be small but it’s an important one,” Hermione argued. “She functions as a go-between for Romeo and Juliet, which you would know if you bothered to read the script!”

Ron sighed and turned back to his breakfast, too tired to argue with her. Just then, the sound of fluttering wings signalled the arrival of the morning post and hundreds of owls soared through the open windows clutching letters, newspapers and parcels. Harry watched as the owls made their deliveries and he still half-expected to see Hedwig appear with a letter from Hagrid or with a dead mouse clutched in her beak. A tawny owl flew over the heads of several Slytherin students and came to a stuttering halt in front of Draco. Harry expected it was probably a letter from his mother—she usually sent him a parcel full of sweets and cakes when the new term began—but as Draco tore open the letter he suddenly yelped in pain and jumped to his feet, his hands and sleeves drenched in a yellowish green liquid.

“What’s going on over there?” asked Ron curiously, rising to his feet to get a better look. “Bloody hell, looks like someone sent Malfoy bubotuber pus.”

“What?” Hermione jumped to her feet to get a look for herself. “Oh dear…”

The trio watched in horror as large, yellow boils began to erupt all over Draco’s hands. Several students laughed as they watched Draco try in vain to wipe the liquid off, rubbing his hands across the front of his robes, but his fingers and palms were already covered in painful sores that looked ready to burst. Harry stared after Draco as he hurried out of the Great Hall, his face screwed up in pain.

“Who would do such a thing?” said Hermione, sounding horrified.

“Who wouldn’t?” Ron shrugged, sitting back down. “He’s not exactly Mr Popular around here, is he?”

“Maybe not but nobody deserves that,” she argued, taking her own seat. “Remember when someone sent me bubotuber pus in the post? It was extremely painful.”

“Well, I’m not going to lose any sleep over Malfoy missing our Transfiguration lesson,” said Ron. “It’s bad enough that we need to put up with him in Muggle Studies.”

“Malfoy was sitting on his own again today,” said Harry thoughtfully.

“What was that?” asked Ron distractedly as he shovelled another spoonful of porridge into his mouth.

“Malfoy,” said Harry again. “During the Welcoming Feast, he wasn’t sitting with his friends. I figured it was because we turned up late and there was no room for him at that end of the table, but he’s been sitting on his own during meal times. Come to think of it, he hasn’t sat next to Nott and Goyle during any classes, either. What do you suppose is going on with them?”

“Who cares?” said Ron. “We’ve got more important things to worry about than Malfoy. Like acting in this bloody play! What’s that all about?”

“I think it’ll be fun,” Ginny piped up. “I’ve never done a play before, and I’m going to need something to keep me occupied if there’s no Quidditch this year.”

“You want to take part?” asked Harry, sounding surprised. Ginny shrugged.

“Sure, why not? Who knows, maybe if I get the part of Juliet I’ll meet a hot Romeo,” she joked. She drained her goblet of orange juice before waving them off and leaving the Great Hall. Ron waited until Ginny was well out of earshot before he nudged Harry in the ribs.

“There’s the chance you’ve been looking for, mate,” he whispered excitedly.

“A chance to do what?” asked Harry.

“A chance to get back together with Ginny!” he exclaimed. Harry stared blankly back at Ron.

“What are you on about?”

“The play’s a romance, isn’t it? Think about it: if she gets the part of Juliet and you’re Romeo, you’ll need to spend all of your free time rehearsing together.”

“Right..?” said Harry slowly.

“So, you’ll be practising all of these romantic scenes together,” he continued. “The more time that you spend in each other’s company, the sooner she’ll realise how brilliant you are and she’ll want to get back together with you!”

Hermione scoffed, “That is the worst plan I’ve ever heard.”

“What’s wrong with it?” asked Ron defensively. Hermione drew him a withering look.

“Apart from the fact that there’s no guarantee that either of them will get the lead roles, Ginny isn’t going to fall head over heels in love with Harry again just because they’re cast as lovers in a romantic tragedy. This isn’t some cheesy romance novel, you know.”

Ron waved Hermione off dismissively and turned back to Harry. “Never mind her, this plan is sure to work.”

“You really think so?” he asked uncertainly.

“Absolutely! Trust me on this, mate. We’ll get you the role of Romeo if my life depends on it. I’ll even help you rehearse the scene.”

Harry wasn’t as confident as Ron that this plan would work. Ginny had made it as clear as day that she and Harry were not going to get back together; he was firmly in the “just friends” camp and, to be honest, he was beginning to think that it was for the best. He still loved Ginny—he didn’t think that he’d ever not love her—but she was right: they just weren’t compatible. Harry knew that he should talk to Ron about it, explain to him exactly why he and Ginny would never work, but that would mean admitting that he was gay and he wasn’t ready to talk to his friends about that yet, not until he’d worked it out more himself. Instead, he smiled at his best friend and nodded.

“Yeah, practising the scene together would be really helpful,” he replied weakly. “Cheers, mate.”

Ron clapped Harry reassuringly on the shoulder, “No problem! I suppose we better get to Transfiguration class, at least it’ll be a Malfoy-free lesson.”

As they approached the Transfiguration classroom, they were surprised to find their classmates still standing outside in the corridor. Hermione weaved her way to the front of the crowd to find the classroom door closed and Neville standing guard, barring entry to the others.

“What’s going on, Neville?” she asked, trying to step past him to open the door but paused as he held his hand up to stop her.

“You don’t want to go in there,” he warned in a low, hushed tone. Hermione frowned.

“Why not?” she asked curiously.

“Chimaera,” Goyle chipped in, nodding to the door.

Hermione looked more startled that Goyle had addressed her directly than the revelation that a chimaera was inside their classroom, particularly since the hulking Slytherin had been glowering at the trio since they had returned to Hogwarts.

“It’s not a chimaera,” said Neville. “It’s a lion. A chimaera's got a snake’s tail.”

“Well I wasn’t looking at its tail, was I?” Goyle grumbled. “I was more worried about its teeth!”

Harry sidled his way past the crowd to stand next to Hermione. “What’s happening? Is the door locked?”

“Apparently, there’s some wild animal in the classroom,” said Hermione sceptically. “Although there’s some debate as to what type of animal it is.”

“If you don’t believe me, take a look for yourself,” said Neville coolly, then added, “But I rather you didn’t. I don’t want you getting hurt, Hermione…”

“I don’t mind taking a look,” said Harry casually.

“Oh, what a surprise,” muttered Theo under his breath and Pansy snorted. Harry ignored their jibe and took a step towards the classroom door.

“I’m just going to have a peek,” he assured Neville. “I’m not going to run in there and try to go head-to-head with it.”

Reluctantly, Neville stepped aside and Harry cracked open the classroom door, peered inside and immediately slammed the door shut again.

“Yup, there’s a lion in there,” he confirmed. A panicked murmur spread through the crowd as everyone tried to figure out what they should do. Ron checked his watch and chuckled.

“Well, that took longer than I thought it would,” he mused.

“What did?” asked Harry.

“For something weird to happen in this school,” he joked.

Ignoring Neville’s protests, Hermione pushed past him and opened the classroom door, determined to take a look for herself. She gasped as she caught sight of the enormous wildcat sleeping soundly at the foot of the teacher’s desk.

“Good lord,” Hermione exclaimed. “That’s Professor Switch!”

“Who?” Ron, Neville and Harry asked in unison. Hermione carefully closed the classroom door again so as not to wake the sleeping beast.

“Professor Emeric Switch,” she explained excitedly. “He wrote _A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration._ But he retired years ago, how on earth did McGonagall convince him to come out of retirement?”

“Is that the one who had his photograph on the back of the book?” asked Harry. “He looked a bit like Beethoven?”

“Exactly,” Hermione confirmed with a curt nod. Ron shook his head in disbelief.

“How can you possibly tell that great bloody lion is our Transfiguration professor?”

“Well, apart from the fact that lions are native to the African continent and I think it’s highly unlikely one wandered off of the Savannah and into our classroom, there’s also the small matter of Professor Emeric Switch, a world-renowned Transfiguration expert, is also a registered Animagus,” said Hermione briskly. “Would you like to hazard a guess what form he takes?”

Harry peered into the classroom again and shrugged. “Looks nothing like the picture on the book cover.”

“Oh, haha,” said Hermione sarcastically.

“If he’s the new Transfiguration professor, how come he wasn’t at the Welcoming Feast?” asked Ron.

“Maybe he couldn’t make it?” Hermione shrugged.

“How can you be sure that it’s Professor Switch?” asked Neville uncertainly. Hermione hoisted her bag onto her shoulder and grabbed the door handle.

“There’s only one way to find out,” she declared.

Several students gasped as Hermione threw open the door and marched into the classroom. Ron tried to grab her arm to pull her back but she was too quick for him.

“Has she lost the plot?” he hissed, running in after her with his wand drawn, closely followed by Harry, Neville, and several other curious students who kept their distance and remained close to the exit.

Hermione cautiously approached the slumbering lion; her courage seemed to have waned somewhat now that she was in close proximity with the enormous beast. She cleared her throat and said quietly, “Umm...Professor Switch?”

The lion’s long white whiskers twitched a little but otherwise, it remained sound asleep. Hermione cast an uncertain glance back at Ron and Harry, who were gesticulating wildly while they silently mouthed for her to run away. Instead, Hermione turned back to the lion and took a step closer to it before speaking a little louder.

“Professor Switch,” she implored, “I’m sorry to disturb you but the class was due to start ten minutes ago. Sir?”

Still, no response.

“Sir,” she said more firmly before shouting, “WAKE UP!”

The lion’s eyes snapped open and it let out a ferocious roar. The students' screams were drowned out by the angry lion’s cry as they scrambled over each other to escape the classroom. Meanwhile, Harry, Ron and Neville rushed forward, wands drawn and ready to do battle with the king of beasts. Ron rugby-tackled Hermione to the ground and used his body as a protective shield.

“Protego!” Ron conjured an invisible shield around himself and Hermione while Harry and Neville raised their wands to attack, but before they could cast their first spell they paused and stared. On the spot where the lion had lain only moments before stood a very old man. His wild grey hair resembled that of the lion’s main except for his balding, mottled scalp that showcased his receding hairline. His old bones creaked as he stretched and yawned, blinking several times in an effort to wake himself up.

“Good gracious girl, there’s no need to shout,” he gently chastised Hermione who still lay pinned to the ground by Ron. “I was only hoping to catch forty winks before the start of the lesson.”

Hermione roughly pushed Ron off of her and scrambled back onto her feet, brushing down her robes. “I’m sorry, Sir, I didn’t mean to startle you but the class was supposed to have started ten minutes ago.”

“It was?” Professor Switch pulled a battered watch from a chain around his neck and gasped when he saw the time. “Oh dear. Well, you did the right thing waking me up. Thank you, Miss..?”

“Granger, Sir.”

“Miss Granger. Five points to Gryffindor for saving me from wasting any more time,” Professor Switch frowned at Harry and Neville who still had their wands drawn. “What on earth are you boys doing?”

Harry and Neville quickly lowered their wands. “Uh, nothing sir.”

Professor Switch eyed them both suspiciously for a moment before deciding to drop the matter. “Yes, well...today is merely an introduction to what we’ll be covering over the next year, so your wands won’t be required. Please, take your seats. Everyone else can come back into the classroom now! The lesson is about to begin.”

The other students stood hesitantly by the door as they watched the wizened professor shuffle slowly behind his desk and began to scribble notes on the blackboard, but gradually they filed their way back into the classroom and took their seats. The rest of the lesson was mercifully dull as Professor Switch outlined the lesson plan for the year. Most of the lessons would be focused on mastering human transfiguration, which Harry wasn’t looking forward to; he’d struggled in previous years to perform relatively simple tasks such as changing the colour of his eyebrows. That said, the prospect of being able to change his entire physical appearance was appealing to him; it would be nice to be able to walk about in public like a normal person without always having to rely on his Invisibility Cloak. Harry thought that would probably appeal to someone like Draco as well.

He knew that it was becoming a bad habit, but Harry couldn’t help himself; while Professor Switch was busy scribbling on the blackboard, Harry pulled the Marauder’s Map out of his bag and checked the Hospital Wing. Sure enough, Draco’s name was there with Madam Pomfrey at his bedside. He wondered if anyone would go to visit Draco while he was there. Considering Harry hadn’t seen him talking to any of his friends since they’d returned to Hogwarts, he supposed not. Harry had thought that it was strange finding Draco lurking about the Hogwarts Express on his own long after everyone else had left. At first, Harry had suspected that he was up to something—as Draco Malfoy was prone to do—but after seeing him sitting alone at meal times and during classes, Harry quickly realised that, for once, that wasn’t the case.

The phrase “It couldn’t have happened to a nicer person” briefly crossed Harry’s mind, but it gave him no pleasure to see anyone, even Draco Malfoy, so miserable. He remembered all too well what it was like to be all alone. He’d still spent more of his life without friends than with. He thought back to those days at St Grogory’s Primary School when Dudley and his gang had bullied him mercilessly. The other children had avoided Harry—partly because they didn’t want to be targeted by Dudley’s gang, but also because they all thought Harry was strange. Harry supposed that he couldn’t blame them; he was strange—his malnourished, bedraggled appearance and his old, ill-fitting clothes hardly made him an appealing friend. He had spent break times wandering the playground alone, envious of the other children who played together, and lost count of the number of times he had eaten his lunch locked in one of the toilet cubicles because it was less hassle to be hidden out of sight.

It seemed as though Draco was now getting a taste of the life that Harry had lived for years. But for all of Draco’s faults, Harry didn’t think that he deserved to feel like that. Nobody did. He fleetingly considered popping up to the Hospital Wing to see Draco, just so that he would have at least one visitor, but dismissed the idea almost as quickly as he had considered it: he imagined that the only thing worse for Draco than having nobody visit him was to have Harry by his bedside.

Events took a predictably strange turn at the end of the lesson when Harry, Ron, Hermione and Neville left the classroom and started making their way down towards the greenhouses for a double period of Herbology. They were walking down a deserted corridor discussing their thoughts on the eccentric Transfiguration professor when, without warning, Goyle stepped in front of them, flanked by Theo, Pansy and Blaise. Hermione yelped in surprise and the group stopped dead in their tracks as the imposing Slytherin loomed over them, blocking their path. His expression was more threatening than usual, his heavy brow knitted into a deep frown and his hands clenched into tight fists by his sides.

Harry had worried that something like this might happen. A lot of the Slytherin students’ parents were dead or in Azkaban because of the war—because of him. He knew that, sooner or later, someone would corner him and his friends when there were no teachers around. Well, Harry had fought off worse than Goyle and his crew. Hermione and Ron shared nervous glances while the other Slytherins scowled at them.

“We don’t want any trouble…” said Neville carefully, slowly reaching for his wand.

“Believe me, we want to do this even less than you do,” said Theo darkly. He cast Goyle a sharp look. “Well, if you’re going to do it, do it already!”

Goyle moved forward and Harry drew his wand, ready to hex him, but to the surprise of everyone, Goyle didn’t draw his wand. He simply thrust out his hand towards Ron. Ron, however, stared at the proffered hand as though it were a vine of Venomous Tentacula.

“What are you doing?” he asked cautiously.

Goyle lowered his hand a little and gnashed his teeth as though he were in a great deal of discomfort. Pansy gave him an encouraging elbow in the ribs and with a reluctant sigh, he spoke up.

“During the Battle, me, Malfoy and Crabbe tried to catch you, so we could take you to the Dark Lord—”

“Yes, we remember that vividly,” said Harry darkly. “Your mate, Crabbe, nearly got us all killed when he lost control of the cursed fire.”

“I know.” Goyle bowed his head and shuffled awkwardly between each foot. “Even though we attacked you, you still saved me and Malfoy. If you and Granger hadn’t helped us, we would have died, too. So, I just wanted to say thank you and...I owe you one.”

Goyle raised his hand a little higher but was unable to meet Ron’s eye. Everyone looked expectantly at Ron for his response, but he looked just as dumbfounded as his friends.

“I...um...yeah, don’t worry about it,” he stammered.

Eventually, he took Goyle’s hand into his own and gave it a quick shake before they both swiftly dropped their hands by their sides again. There was a collective gasp when Goyle then held his hand up to Hermione. She was quicker to respond than Ron, taking his hand and giving it a firm shake before letting it go. Goyle looked relieved—whether it was because they had accepted his small gesture of truce or because the awkward interaction had mercifully come to an end, they weren’t entirely sure. Pansy grabbed Goyle’s elbow and gave it a slight tug.

“Come on, we’re going to be late for class.” Avoiding the shocked expressions of the Gryffindors who stared after them, she pulled Goyle away down the corridor, closely followed by a bemused-looking Blaise.

As Theo walked past he leaned close to Ron and whispered, “Just because he owes you a life debt doesn’t mean that you can take the piss; don’t use this to your advantage or else you’ll have me to deal with. I don’t owe either of you anything and you best remember that.”

There was a stunned silence as Theo stalked down the corridor out of sight.

Ron shook his head in disbelief. “It’s official: the lion in the classroom is only the second weirdest thing to have happened today.”

“Well, I’m glad we managed to get our daily quota of weird stuff out of the way before lunch,” said Harry, stowing his wand back into his pocket.

“I don’t even think I’ve heard Goyle speak more than a few words before,” said Hermione thoughtfully as they continued to walk down the corridor.

“Honestly? I didn’t think he was even capable of constructing full sentences,” Ron quipped. Neville grunted, his normally jovial face set in an angry scowl.

“Yeah, well I heard him say _Crucio_ aplenty last year,” he said darkly.

Hermione hesitated before saying, “I’m not going to try and justify what he did—”

“Really? It sounds like you’re about to try and do just that,” Neville retorted.

“I’m not!” Hermione argued. “It’s just...well, moral disengagement is not uncommon during times of war. For some people, it’s a coping mechanism. For others, like Crabbe and Goyle and a lot of the Slytherins...well, if you’re told enough times throughout your life that Muggles are inhuman and inferior, eventually you’re going to believe it.”

Neville stopped dead in his tracks and rounded on Hermione. “How can you try and defend them? After everything they’ve done?!”

“Oi! Mind who you’re talking to,” Ron warned, but Hermione didn’t look flustered by Neville’s outburst.

“I’m not trying to defend them, I just think that it’s important to try and understand why people act and think the way that they do,” she explained calmly. “Goyle’s been brought up to hate people like us, especially people like me. The fact that he’s even willing to shake hands with us, that tells me that there’s a chance that his views might change.”

“Oh, don’t be so naive,” Neville huffed. “Crabbe and Goyle were in their element torturing other students—they enjoyed it! Don’t forget that he’s a Slytherin—and a Death Eater to boot—they just suck up to whoever they think will make their lives easier. If Voldemort had won the war, he would sooner kill us than shake our hand, and that’s the truth.”

“You really believe that?” Hermione challenged. “Is it completely beyond the realm of possibility that some Slytherins only behaved the way that they did because they were afraid of what would happen to them if they didn’t do as they were told?”

“No, I think that’s probably the case for a lot of them,” Neville relented. “But that just makes them cowards in my book.”

“A lot of them were just kids, Neville,” Hermione argued. “They didn’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice!” said Neville angrily. “We were just kids too and we chose to fight back. Look, I know that you three were busy last year, on the run from Death Eaters and destroying Horcruxes, but the rest of us had Death Eaters of our own to deal with, right here in this school. You weren’t here, you don’t know what it was like…” Neville’s voice trailed and he unconsciously scratched the deep gash that was now a permanent fixture on his handsome face. Hermione reached out and touched him lightly on the forearm.

“I wouldn’t pretend to know what it was like, Neville,” said Hermione gently. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I’m not upset!” he snapped. Hermione quickly withdrew her hand and Neville looked embarrassed at having raised his voice. He huffed out a sigh and said more quietly, “Look, Goyle might owe you both a life debt but a Nundu doesn’t change its spots; I’d trust him as far as I could throw him. That’s all I have to say on the matter.”

Neville hoisted his bag higher onto his shoulder and marched off ahead of his friends.

“I think I preferred Neville when he was the cowardly lion of the group,” Ron joked. Hermione, however, didn’t laugh. If anything, she looked upset.

“I hope I haven’t upset him too much,” she said, worriedly biting her lip.

“He’ll be alright,” Harry chipped in. “He just needs some time to cool down. He has a point though, we’ve no clue what it was like being a student here last year.”

“Not that anyone’s been particularly forthcoming with information as to what that was like,” Ron muttered.

“Can you blame them?” Harry shrugged. “Other than filling in Ministry officials, how much have you told other people what we did last year?”

“Fair point,” sighed Ron. He wrapped his arms around Hermione’s shoulder and pulled her into a reassuring hug. “Are you okay?”

Hermione nodded mutely. She had tears welling in the corners of her eyes and she buried her face into Ron’s shoulder, shielding it from Harry’s view. Ron stroked Hermione’s hair and Harry suddenly felt as though he were infringing on something private so he followed after Neville, leaving his best friends to have a moment to themselves.

“You want me to go beat Neville up for making you cry?” Ron joked. Hermione huffed out a laugh and shook her head.

“No, he’s right,” she murmured into his shoulder. “Typical of me to play devil’s advocate when I should just learn when to keep my mouth shut.”

“Don’t ever do that. Always speak your mind; it’s one of the things I love most about you, even if we disagree a lot of the time.”

“So you disagree with me on this?” she queried. “You don’t think Goyle was being genuine?”

Ron shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know. I’m not going to change my mind about him based on one handshake...but you’re the smartest person that I know, so I’d be pretty stupid not to listen to you.” He kissed her on the cheek and whispered, “You’re a better person than I ever could be, Mione. You’re always trying to see the good in people. Even if it isn’t there.”

“Even if it’s hard to find,” she corrected him with a watery smile before admitting, “I didn’t think it would be so hard coming back here.”

“Me neither,” Ron agreed. He kissed the crown of her head and took her hand into his own. “Come on, you know that we can’t leave Harry unattended for more than five minutes or else we run the risk of something else mental happening around here.”

Hermione choked out a laugh and brushed the tears from her eyes, relieved for the hundredth time that day alone that Ronald Weasley had come back to Hogwarts.


	11. Chapter 11

Draco still felt unsure as to whether or not he was going to stick it out at Hogwarts, but whoever had sent him the bubotuber pus was pushing him dangerously close to packing his trunk and getting as far away from the school as possible. The only thing that was stopping him from leaving right now (apart from being in desperate need of medical assistance) was the thought of whoever who had done this to him seeing him run out of the Great Hall, never to return. No, he didn’t want to give his haters the satisfaction of watching him be run out of Hogwarts with his tail between his legs. It was going to take more than a lame prank to get rid of Draco Malfoy. He’d survived Voldemort; this would be a walk in the park by comparison...

A very slow, torturous walk through a park situated in the centre of the Forbidden Forest, perhaps.

Unable to use his hands, Draco pushed the swing door entrance to the Hospital Wing open with his back only to be met with a shrill voice crying, “CLOSE THE DOOR! QUICKLY!”

Draco ducked as three bright yellow canaries flew over his head and out of the Hospital Wing, disappearing down the corridor and out of sight. A very flustered looking witch in nurses robes rushed forward and slammed the door shut behind Draco just as several more canaries attempted to make their break for freedom. They flapped and twittered angrily around the matron’s head before flying off in all directions around the ward, perching on the window ledges and medical cabinets.

“Bugger,” she growled, bumping her head against the door in frustration. Her peaked hat was sitting off-kilter atop her head and her grey hair was sticking out in odd directions. “If I ever cross paths with George Weasley again, he will rue the day he invented those blasted Canary Creams...”

“Um…Madam Pomfrey?”

“Yes?” she sighed, lifting her head off of the door and straightening her hat. “Ah, Mr Malfoy. What seems to be the problem?” Draco lifted his hands and she grimaced. “Bubotuber pus?”

Draco nodded. She carefully turned his hands over and inspected the damage. “My first thought would be that you had a slight mishap in Potions class, but the day’s lessons haven’t even started yet. Did someone do this to you?”

“Yes, but I don’t know who,” he said quietly. “It was sent to me in the owl post.”

The corners of Madam Pomfrey’s mouth turned downward in disgust. “First students are receiving hate mail and now this! I don’t suppose whoever sent you the letter left a note?”

“Not that I could see.”

Madam Pomfrey shook her head in disgust and ushered Draco over to one of the hospital beds. “Only a coward attacks defenceless schoolchildren. This cannot continue. I’ll need to speak to the Headmistress about this.”

Draco resisted the temptation to insist that he wasn’t a defenceless child. Instead, he allowed Madam Pomfrey to peel off his sodden school robes, shirt and tie so that she could treat his wounds.

“Unfortunately, I’m going to have to burst the boils before I can treat them with murtlap essence, but this potion will relieve you from any pain. Drink every last drop.”

She held a goblet full of potion up to his lips and he drank it all in two large gulps. It tasted as bad as the bubotuber pus smelled, but Draco would have happily drank pureed flobberworms if it relieved the pain in his hands and arms. Within seconds, the pain began to lessen considerably and he let out a sigh of relief. Madam Pomfrey nodded approvingly.

“Excellent. Now that’s taken effect, I’ll have to—oh for Merlin’s sake, will you lot please quieten down? I will see to you soon enough!” Madam Pomfrey shouted at the canaries but her protests fell on deaf ears. Draco watched as the little birds continued to twitter loudly as they circled the infirmary.

“The birds,” he asked curiously, “Are they…”

“Students,” Madam Pomfrey confirmed, popping each boil and squeezing the pus out of them without even batting an eye. “Yes, they happened across a plate of Canary Creams left outside of the Slytherin common room and some students were foolish enough to eat them. Usually, the transformation only lasts a minute but someone has tampered with the biscuits and the students have been stuck like that since last night.”

Madam Pomfrey cleaned her hands in a small basin before she began applying Murtlap Essence to Draco’s wounds. “And now we have a few students flying free of the Hospital Wing. They’re going to be a nightmare to catch. Hopefully, they’ll steer clear of Mrs Norris...”

“I didn’t mean to let them out,” Draco murmured apologetically, but Madam Pomfrey waved her hand dismissively.

“Not to worry, you weren’t to know. I’ll need to go track down the escapees, but I’ll finish treating you first…” Once she had finished bandaging Draco’s hands and forearms, she slipped a clean cotton gown over his head. “I’m afraid that your school uniform is ruined, bubotuber pus is impossible to get out of clothes.”

“Fine,” Draco sighed.

He inspected his heavily bandaged hands and tried to clench them into a fist but found that it was difficult to even wiggle his fingers. His movements were restricted but at least he wasn’t in pain anymore. He moved to slide off of the hospital bed but Madam Pomfrey gently pushed his shoulders back.

“Oh no, you don’t. You’ll need to remain here overnight for observation.”

Draco gaped at her. “You are joking, aren’t you?”

“I never joke about the health of my patients,” she replied brusquely.

“Can’t you just let me go back to my dormitory?” he pleaded.

“It would be far more convenient for me if you remain here,” she countered, tucking the bedsheets around his legs so tightly that Draco now had no means of escape. “Bed rest, Mr Malfoy. The sooner you rest, the quicker you’ll heal. I suggest you use the free time to catch up on your studies.”

“How am I supposed to study if I don’t even have use of my hands?” he asked hotly, lifting his bandaged limbs aloft to demonstrate his point.

Madam Pomfrey picked up Draco’s school bag and rummaged through it, ignoring his shouts of protest. She pulled out the script of _Romeo and Juliet_ and plopped it onto his lap.

“You can read, can’t you?” she retorted.

Turning on her heel, she left a bemused Draco to figure out how to do just that on his own. Lucky for Draco that his Aunt Bellatrix had taught him some wandless magic the summer before his sixth year. He doubted that she ever expected him to use those skills to catch up on schoolwork, but then he never did care what his dearly departed aunt thought. Settling back into the soft pillows, he levitated the script in front of his face and was able to turn the pages with ease. It was difficult, however, to concentrate on learning his lines when Madam Pomfrey kept running back and forth across the ward with a giant butterfly net, trying to catch the elusive flock of birds. Eventually, the dishevelled matron succeeded in capturing them all, placing the last screeching canary inside a large gilded birdcage on her desk.

“Now, no more escape attempts!” she warned, wagging a long index finger at them. “I need to go track down the others before I can figure out how to change all of you back. Please, be patient. And be quiet, for Merlin’s sake! I can’t even understand what you’re trying to say. Oh, what is it now?”

Just then the hospital door swung open again and Draco felt his pulse race a little quicker as Harry came in, closely followed by Professor Sprout. It was embarrassing enough being covered in a gross, sticky yellow pus in front of the whole school; the last thing he needed was for his nemesis to see him covered in bandages. He could easily imagine Harry running off to tell everyone what an idiot he looked (if the shoe was on the other foot, it’s what he would have done). Draco tried to use the script to shield his face from view but let it fall back onto his lap when he noticed that the sleeves of Harry’s robes were badly burnt. Draco felt a pang of sympathy in the pit of his stomach when he saw that the skin on Harry’s hands and arms was red and blistered and his face was etched in pain. Madam Pomfrey dashed to Harry’s side and beckoned him over to the bed next to Draco’s.

“What happened?” she asked. Professor Sprout helped Harry sit up on the bed, looking decidedly less cheerful than usual.

“Mr Potter failed to follow my instructions and tried to plant fire seeds without wearing his dragonhide gloves,” she explained. “This is the result.”

Harry recoiled as Madam Pomfrey carefully but experimentally touched the burnt skin on his hands.

“I’m sorry, Professor Sprout,” he said in a pained voice. “There’s no excuse for not paying attention. I’m an idiot…”

“Finally, something that we can both agree on,” Draco muttered and Harry drew him a contemptuous look.

“Contrary to how it may feel, Mr Potter, pain is actually a good sign,” Madam Pomfrey assured him. “It means that the nerve endings haven’t been destroyed. That makes your recovery much more straightforward.”

Professor Sprout left the Hospital Wing wishing Harry a speedy recovery and promised him that he would have plenty of homework on the proper methods of handling fire seeds to catch up on when he was well again. Meanwhile, Madam Pomfrey pulled several bottles from a nearby medicine cabinet and proceeded to mix various potions and ointments to treat Harry’s wounds. Draco pretended to be reading his script but watched out of the corner of his eye as Harry, with some difficulty, peeled off his robes and shirt and allowed the matron to begin treating him. Draco felt the heat rise in his cheeks when Harry moaned in relief as the matron began applying cool salve to his injured arms. He tried to focus on the lines that he had to learn but he couldn’t concentrate on anything but those obscene and annoying breathy noises Harry was making.

“If you’re going to die, die quietly,” he drawled. “Some of us are trying to work here.”

“Shut it, Malfoy!” Harry snapped.

“That’s enough from both of you,” Madam Pomfrey chastised, applying fresh bandages to Harry’s arms and hands. “Mr Potter, you’ve been a patient of mine more times than I care to admit over the years. Usually, you manage to refrain from injuring yourself within the first week.”

“Usually I’m not so careless,” he replied. “I appreciate all of the help you’ve given me over the years. I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you…”

“No need to thank me,” she assured him with a warm smile. “It’s my job to take care for all of the students at Hogwarts, including the more accident-prone ones like yourself and Mr Longbottom. But please, try to be more careful in future. As pleasant as your company is, I’d rather not see you here so often.”

Harry returned her smile. “I’ll try my best.”

Madam Pomfrey pulled a cotton gown—identical to the one that she had given to Draco—over Harry’s head. “Get into bed, Mr Potter, you’re going to be here for the rest of the evening.” Harry tried to protest but the matron was having none of it. “I’m sorry, but your health and wellbeing are my top priority. You may return to your lessons if and when I deem you well enough. For the time being, you are prescribed bed rest. Mr Malfoy…” she said, turning her attention to Draco. “How are you feeling now?”

“Better, thank you.”

“Are you in any pain?” she asked.

“No,” he confirmed. Madam Pomfrey nodded, satisfied.

“Very good. Now, if you’ll both excuse me, I need to go and track down my other patients. I won’t be long.”

Harry and Draco watched as Madam Pomfrey slung the giant butterfly net over her shoulder and marched out of the Hospital Wing, leaving them alone.

“What’s the butterfly net for?” asked Harry curiously.

“To catch her patients, obviously,” Draco drawled. The confused expression on Harry’s face amused him to no end and he decided not to elaborate any further. “So, what happened to you? I suppose you rescued a baby from a burning building or something else equally heroic.”

“Hardly,” Harry muttered, his confused expression quickly changing into one of embarrassment. “I was in Herbology and I just wasn’t paying attention. I forgot to put on my gloves before picking up fire seeds.”

“You’d think the name would have given you a heads up that they were flammable,” Draco teased.

Harry rolled his eyes and tried to turn the conversation away from himself, “Well, what about you? I’m guessing that you didn’t order bubotuber pus by owl post.”

“If I did, I wouldn’t have been stupid enough to handle it without gloves,” he quipped. “To be honest, I was half-expecting something like this to happen. I’m sure it was simply someone’s idea of a bad joke.”

Harry looked as though he wanted to say something then but instead he chewed his lip and bowed his head. Assuming that their short but civil conversation had concluded, Draco levitated the script in front of his face again and proceeded to read in silence. However, Draco only managed to read a couple of lines when Harry spoke again.

“What are the chances, eh?” he said thoughtfully. “Of you and me ending up in the hospital ward, both of us with our hands and arms bandaged like mummies.”

“Extremely unlikely,” Draco acknowledged. “And extremely unfortunate for me.”

“Unfortunate for both of us,” Harry corrected him. “I want to be here as much as you do.”

“The door’s over there,” Draco pointed out. “Feel free to leave if you like.”

Harry muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “foul git” but Draco chose to ignore it. Another moment of silence passed and then Harry spoke up again.

“Are you going to audition for the play?” he asked curiously.

“You love to hear the sound of your own voice, don’t you?” said Draco irritably.

“Is that a yes, then?” asked Harry, ignoring Draco’s jibe. “Is that why you’re reading the script?”

“Well, I’m certainly not reading it for fun,” he quipped without looking up. “Besides, it’s not like Professor Tonks gave us a choice: auditions are compulsory.”

“I know but...why are you rehearsing?” Harry pressed. “Surely you’re not actually interested in acting in the play?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked defensively.

“Well...because it’s a Muggle play,” said Harry simply. Draco lowered the script and looked at Harry.

“Have _you_ been rehearsing?” he asked.

“No,” said Harry quickly. Draco snorted.

“I find that hard to believe. You don’t have Quidditch this year to make sure that you’re the centre of attention, but you’ve got this play to fall back on. I take that you want to play Romeo?”

“I told you, Malfoy, I haven’t been rehearsing,” Harry argued. “I’m not interested in doing the play. I’ve got better things to do with my time, thanks very much.”

“Good,” said Draco lightly, turning back to his script. “You’d make an atrocious Romeo. Better that you don’t waste your time.”

Draco smiled to himself as he listened to Harry splutter in indignation. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What?” Draco replied innocently.

“Why wouldn’t I make a good Romeo?” Harry challenged. Draco shrugged.

“Well, apart from the fact that you look more like a pauper than a prince—” Harry rolled his eyes at that comment. “—the real issue is the language; it’s a bit beyond your capabilities.”

Draco delighted at the flush of red creeping up Harry’s cheeks. “I’ve as good a chance as anyone else at getting it. Better chance than you have.”

“Really?” said Draco mildly. “You think that Professor Tonks is going to give you the lead role when you haven’t even bothered rehearsing? For someone who preaches about not wanting preferential treatment, that sounds suspiciously like nepotism to me…”

Harry snarled and reached for his school bag. With some difficulty, he managed to lift it onto his lap and, after rummaging through it for a few moments, he roughly pulled his copy of the script out and tossed his bag back onto the floor. Draco watched with growing amusement as Harry struggled to flip through the pages of the script with his heavily bandaged fingers.

“Need a hand, Potter?” he joked. Harry drew him a dirty look.

“I don’t need your help,” he replied stiffly, fumbling with the pages.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Draco mumbled.

Without prompting, Draco used wandless magic to flip open Harry’s script to the first page. Harry shot Draco a surprised look but he had already turned back to his own script.

“Umm...thanks,” said Harry so quietly that Draco barely heard him.

They both settled down in their beds to read their lines in silence. The silence, however, was short-lived, as—much to Draco’s annoyance—Harry began to mutter his lines under his breath. Draco tried to ignore it, but he found Harry’s whispers very distracting. He lowered his script again and looked at Harry.

“Would you cut that out?”

Harry glanced up at him. “What’s that?”

“Whispering your lines. Can’t you just read without making any noise?” Draco complained. Harry tsked and bowed his head.

“Stop listening to me, then,” he countered, but clamped his mouth shut and continued to read in silence. But Harry only managed to keep quiet for a couple of minutes before he started muttering his lines under his breath again. Draco sighed in exasperation and lowered his script yet again.

“You’re doing it again.”

“What?”

“Whispering your lines.”

“No, I’m not!” Harry protested.

“I just heard you!” said Draco hotly. “How can you not hear yourself?”

Harry groaned in annoyance and rolled his eyes. “Alright. What scene are you rehearsing?”

“Act three, scene one,” said Draco. “Mercutio and Tybalt’s fight.”

“Me too,” said Harry. He hesitated a moment before suggesting, “Well...since we’re both reading the same scene, wouldn’t it make more sense if we rehearsed together?”

Draco cocked an eyebrow at Harry. “You want to rehearse with me?”

“Want is a strong word,” he joked. “Look, we’re stuck in here for the rest of the day, it might make the time go by faster if we learn it together. It’s either that or you have to keep listening to me muttering under my breath.”

Draco considered casting the Langlock Curse at Harry instead, but after taking a moment to seriously consider Harry’s offer he gave a curt nod in agreement.

“Alright, I suppose there’s no harm in giving it a go.”

Harry smiled. “Great. I’ll be Tybalt—”

“How come you get to play Tybalt?” Draco cut in. Harry’s smile wavered.

“Because that’s the part I’ve been practising,” he explained.

“Well tough luck, Potter, I’ve been practising Tybalt’s part as well,” said Draco.

“Oh for the love of god…” Harry groaned. “Malfoy, we can’t both play Tybalt!”

“Well, I’m not changing roles,” Draco declared. Harry’s eyes narrowed.

“Neither am I.”

Yet another argument ensued, each of them throwing insults while arguing why they would be better suited to the role of Tybalt. Just as Draco was ready to throw his script at Harry’s head, Harry raised his hands in mock surrender.

“Alright! Let’s stop shouting at each other. Clearly, we’re never going to come to an agreement on this. There’s only one way to resolve this dispute,” he declared. “Rock, paper, scissors.”

Draco stared blankly back at Harry. “What?”

“It’s a hand game Muggles play,” he explained. “Each player simultaneously forms one of three shapes with their hand: either a rock, a ball of paper, or scissors—” Draco cleared his throat and raised his bandaged hands. Harry looked down at his own bandaged limbs and his shoulders sagged. “Oh, right...”

“You’re an idiot,” Draco smirked in a tone that was more endearing than sneering. Harry decided not to argue that point. Instead, he looked around the deserted Hospital Wing for inspiration. He noticed a bedpan sitting on top of the bed across the ward and his eyes lit up. Tossing the script to one side he leant over to grab a handful of unused bandages that Madam Pomfrey had left on the small table between Harry and Draco’s beds. Draco watched as Harry, with some difficulty, managed to scrunch a strip of the soft gauze into a small ball. Holding it precariously between his heavily bandaged forefinger and thumb, he tossed the ball onto Draco’s lap.

“What’s this for?” he asked, picking it up. Harry made another ball of gauze and tossed it across the ward. Draco watched as it arced through the air and landed inside the bedpan with a soft _thud._

“Best two of three,” said Harry, making another ball. “Whoever wins gets to pick the role they want to read.”

A wide grin spread across Draco’s face and he picked up his own ball. He was never one to turn down a challenge. But much to Draco’s annoyance, Harry succeeded in throwing the next two balls into the bedpan whereas he only managed one. In true tactless Gryffindor style, Harry cheered and punched the air in celebration.

“Yes!” he hissed. “Victory is mine.”

“That was a fluke!” Draco argued but Harry just laughed.

“No, it wasn’t, I’m just better than you.”

Draco picked up a fistful of bandages from the table and tossed them onto Harry’s lap. “Think you can do it again? Prove it.”

“Alright,” said Harry with a careless shrug and a shit-eating grin across his face. “Best three out of five?”

Harry threw another missile but just as it was about to land inside the bedpan it veered wildly off to the right seemingly of its own accord. Harry frowned, confused at what had just happened while Draco struggled to smother his laughter. Brushing it off, Harry tried again only for the same thing to happen. He threw a suspicious glance at Draco who tried to look innocent but was struggling to hide the smile that threatened to spread across his face.

“Are you messing about with my balls?” asked Harry suspiciously.

“Not before you take me out on a date first,” he joked, laughing at the angry blush that spread across Harry’s face. Harry tossed another ball, this time at Draco’s face. Using wandless magic he managed to stop the missile mid-flight and toss it back at Harry.

“I knew you were cheating!” Harry cried, sounding both vindicated and incensed.

“Only a little bit…” he relented.

After making Draco promise not to use wandless magic again, the best of three quickly turned into a best of five and then seven. After that, they stopped counting. When they ran out of bandages to throw they started tearing up rolls of parchment from their school bags. They challenged each other to throw more difficult shots than the last—tossing it over their shoulders, aiming with their eyes closed...Draco took the opportunity to show off his wandless magic skills again by levitating the balls into the bedpan, one after the other in quick succession. He was pleased to see that Harry looked impressed by this small feat of magic. It pleased Draco even more when Harry burst into fits of laughter when he clambered onto his feet atop his bed and tried to throw a paper aeroplane between his legs, missing his intended target by a spectacular distance.

Draco fell back onto the soft bed, laughing hard. It was the most fun he’d had in as long as he could remember. It was strange that he was enjoying himself with Harry of all people, but he tried not to think about it too much; he just wanted to enjoy the moment while it lasted. Draco let out a contented sigh and looked at Harry.

“Unfortunately, I’ve run out of parchment,” he pouted.

Harry held up his paper missile. “Last one.”

“Better do something spectacular with it, then.”

Harry looked thoughtful for a moment. “How about...I try throwing without wearing my glasses?”

He carefully slipped his glasses off and sat them on his lap before tossing his last missile across the ward. Draco laughed loudly as Harry missed the overflowing bedpan by a good meter.

“Good Godric, your aim was better when you had your eyes closed!” he chuckled.

“It was, wasn’t it?” Harry smiled.

“Just how bad is your eyesight?” asked Draco curiously.

“Bad,” Harry confirmed. “You want to take a look?”

Draco nodded and Harry slid off of his bed to sit on the edge of Draco’s. They fumbled for a moment passing the spectacles to one another. Draco shoved the glasses onto his face and immediately burst out laughing again.

“Merlin, Potter, your eyesight is atrocious!”

“Told you,” said Harry lightly, grinning.

“You’re as blind as a flobberworm.” Draco scrutinised his reflection in the mirror that sat on his bedside table. “What do you think? Do I suit them?”

“Well, I can’t bloody well see them from here, can I?” Harry laughed, moving closer to Draco. He screwed up his eyes, the better to see, and leant forward until his and Draco’s faces were only inches apart. Draco held his breath and felt his heart beat harder in his chest. It was strange, having Harry so close to him like this; usually one or both of them would have their wands drawn by now. But what really took him aback was Harry’s eyes. Draco had never noticed how green they were before. They were the hue of the Forbidden Forest, dark but much more inviting. If they were anyone else’s eyes, he might have even said that they were beautiful. Draco didn’t dare move as Harry moved even closer, so close that Harry’s breath tickled his lips.

“You know what, Malfoy?” said Harry in a low voice. “You kind of suit them.”

“You think?” Draco breathed. Harry nodded slightly.

“Yeah, I do…” Harry’s voice trailed off as his gaze drifted from Draco’s eyes to his lips. Silence fell between them and Draco suddenly had the insane and overwhelming urge to kiss Harry then, but his bizarre thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a shrill voice.

“What on earth is going on in here?!”

The piercing cry cut the tension between Harry and Draco and they jumped away from each other in surprise. Draco was still wearing Harry’s glasses so he couldn’t see what was happening but he heard the unmistakable _tack tack_ of Madam Pomfrey’s shoes as she hurried towards them.

“What is this?” she demanded, pointing at the mess of parchment and bandages strewn across the floor of the infirmary.

“We, umm…” Harry stammered. “We were studying and—”

“A study in idleness, perhaps!” she snapped. “Get back into your own bed, Mr Potter. Immediately!”

Harry scrambled off of Draco’s bed and back into his own while Madam Pomfrey sat a small cage with three angry canaries on one of the unoccupied beds before drawing her wand and, with the flick of her wrist, vanishing the mess that they had made.

“This is a hospital, not a frat house!” she fumed, pocketing her wand. “Either you both behave in a civil manner or I will enforce lights out before supper. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Madam Pomfrey,” they chorused, struggling to suppress laughter as she turned on her heel and marched towards her office with the small gold cage tucked under her arm. As her door slammed shut with a loud bang, Draco started snickering.

“Caught in the act,” he grinned, tossing Harry’s glasses back onto his lap. “You’d think we’d trashed the Hospital Wing, the way she’s acting.”

“I’m sure she’ll forgive us,” said Harry, shoving his glasses back onto his face and scooping his discarded script off of the floor. “That wasn’t an empty threat, though; we’ll need to stay on her good side from now on if we want our dinner.”

“I’ll try my best,” Draco smiled, levitating his own script back onto his lap. He glanced at Harry and his smile faltered.

“This is weird, isn’t it?” he said quietly.

“What is?” asked Harry.

“Us...not at each other’s throats. Having a civil conversation.”

“It is weird,” he acknowledged. “But it doesn’t mean that it’s bad, does it?”

Draco hesitated. “I suppose not.”

Harry gave Draco a warm smile and turned back to his script. “Right, do you want to make a start on this?”

Draco sighed. “I suppose so, since we’ve nothing better to do.”

“Alright, you play Tybalt,” said Harry, fumbling to open his script again. Draco frowned at him.

“But I thought you—”

“I changed my mind,” Harry cut in. “You’re more like Tybalt than I am, anyway: a bad-tempered git who doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut.”

“Speak for yourself!” said Draco with indignation, although he was smiling. Using wandless magic, he flipped Harry’s script back open to the first page of the scene and settled himself in a more comfortable position in bed. “Fine. If you insist, I’ll read for Tybalt…”

They spent the rest of the afternoon rehearsing their lines, only stopping when Madam Pomfrey came over with two large trays with steak and kidney pies for their dinner. She still looked a little miffed but less so than she had done earlier in the day. Evidently, seeing her patients studying had somewhat softened her mood. Draco was happy to continue rehearsing with Harry for the rest of the evening. It surprised him how easy Harry was to work with when he wasn’t being a self-righteous git, so he was a little disappointed when Harry’s friends showed up shortly after dinnertime to check in on him. Ron, Hermione, Neville, Luna and Ginny all piled into the Hospital Wing, surrounding Harry’s bed and chatting animatedly to him while Draco pretended to read his script.

“What did I say, Hermione? We can’t leave Harry unattended for more than a few minutes without something disastrous happening to him,” Ron joked. “Who’d have thought that crossing paths with a lion would be the least dangerous encounter we’d have today? Those fire seeds should come with a health and safety warning!”

“It wasn’t a real lion though,” Hermione pointed out. Ron gaped at her.

“He was pretty convincing when he was roaring and I thought he was going to bite your head off!”

“He was only yawning!” she argued. Shaking her head she turned to Harry and said gently, “And to be fair, Professor Sprout did warn us to be careful with the fire seeds. Oh, Harry, it isn’t like you to get so distracted like that!”

“Yeah, usually that’s my job,” Neville chuckled.

“How are you feeling now?” asked Ginny, her face etched with concern. “You’re not in any pain, are you?”

“I’m fine,” Harry assured them. “The bandages are the most annoying thing. I can’t pick up a quill so I haven’t been able to write anything all day.”

“Oh, what a shame,” said Ron sarcastically.

“So, what have you been doing all day?” asked Hermione curiously.

“Not much,” Harry shrugged, casting a furtive glance towards Draco. “Been rehearsing lines for that play all day.”

“Oh brilliant!” said Hermione approvingly. “Do you feel prepared for it? I’ve been able to memorise most of my lines but I’m not convinced I’m actually any good at acting. You don’t think Professor Tonks will hold that against me, do you?”

Ron looked around to double check that Madam Pomfrey was in her office before rummaging through the right pocket of his robes.

“I brought someone to see you,” he said quietly, pulling out a small ball of white fluff and held it out to Harry. Harry’s eyes immediately widened with excitement.

“Asha!” he exclaimed.

The little ferret squeaked excitedly and ran up Ron’s arm into Harry’s outstretched hands. She curiously sniffed the bandages on his hands and forearms before settling herself down on his lap. When she caught sight of Draco in the next bed, she wagged her little tail excitedly and for a moment he was afraid that she would pounce on him again. Thankfully, she remained on Harry’s lap for the duration of her visit.

Harry’s friends only left when Madam Pomfrey told them that curfew was fast approaching and they reluctantly waved him off for the evening. At ten o'clock sharp, the matron extinguished all of the candles, plunging the Hospital Wing into darkness. Unable to read in the dark, Draco discarded his script onto the bedside table and settled down to sleep for the night. Draco heard Harry’s bed creak as the other boy turned to face him, although it was too dark to see his face.

“I didn’t think that they were going to hang out for as long as they did,” said Harry quietly enough so that Madam Pomfrey couldn’t hear him from her office. Draco frowned.

“What are you talking about?”

“My friends,” said Harry. “I didn’t think that they were going to stay as long as they did...we were going to rehearse together a bit more after dinner, sorry we didn’t get the chance to.”

“Not to worry,” said Draco lightly. “I got plenty more practice in while you were chatting with your friends, so I’m sure to beat you to top billing now.”

Harry chuckled and fell silent for a minute before saying hesitantly, “I don’t know what’s going on with you and your friends at the moment but...I think it’s pretty shitty that they didn’t come to check in on you.”

Draco immediately tensed at the mention of his “friends”. He knew that Harry meant well but he didn’t appreciate being pitied. For Draco, pity was so much worse than hate.

“I’m a big boy, Potter,” he mumbled. “I don’t need someone to hold my hand while I’m in the Hospital Wing—metaphorically speaking.”

“I know, but—”

“Just drop it,” Draco warned. “It’s not something I want to talk about, least of all with you.” Unwilling to discuss the matter any further, Draco used wandless magic to draw the curtain around his bed.

“Goodnight, Potter,” he said shortly.

Harry hesitated a minute before mumbling a quiet “Goodnight” and Draco listened as Harry’s bed creaked and he imagined Harry was turning to face the other direction. After that, all was silent. Draco lay awake thinking about his day, which had started out as bad as it could get yet had improved greatly as it had gone on, and with the most unlikely company to thank. He put today’s pleasant interaction with Harry down as a one-off, a mere anomaly. Come morning, everything would go back to normal: he and Harry would nag at each other and everyone would still hate him. Just as he was about to fall asleep, he felt something cold touch his cheek and he shivered. Opening his eyes he let out a startled gasp as large, translucent eyes stared down at him.

“Myrtle,” he hissed, sitting up in bed. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to check on you, of course,” she pouted. “Sorry that I didn’t come earlier but you know that I don’t like big crowds. How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” he said irritably. “But not in any pain, thankfully.”

“Well, that’s a relief. In a strange way I kind of miss pain—I miss being able to feel anything. Does that sound weird?” she asked.

“A little bit,” said Draco. “But I can understand where you’re coming from, I suppose.”

“Have you been here all day with Harry?” Myrtle floated through the curtain around Draco’s bed to get a closer look at the other boy before reappearing a few moments later, a mischievous grin on her face. “I think he’s gotten more handsome since the last time I saw him.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know anything about that,” said Draco. He was glad that it was dark enough to hide his blush from his spirited friend. He thought back to earlier in the day when he and Harry had sat so close together their lips could have touched and mentally berated himself for even entertaining such thoughts. Myrtle, however, still gave Draco a knowing smile.

“Harry always looks so peaceful when he sleeps,” she sighed. “Like only in his dreams can he shed the weight of the world from his shoulders.”

“Lucky him,” Draco mumbled.

“I don’t think you two are so unlike,” she said gently. “You’re both such sensitive souls, and you can feel so lonely, especially here at Hogwarts...and you look peaceful when you sleep, too.”

“Potter and I are nothing alike, thank you very much, I—hold on,” Draco spluttered. “Myrtle, _do you spy on me when I’m sleeping?!”_

“Not every night,” she replied evasively. “You look tired, Draco. I’ll let you get some rest. Goodnight.”

“Myrtle, wait!” he hissed, but she ignored his summons and disappeared through the floor and out of sight. Draco sighed and flopped back onto his bed, feeling more than a little disconcerted at that admission. He’d need to have a chat with Myrtle about boundaries.


	12. Chapter 12

“He did _what?”_ Hestia exclaimed.

“He told me to stick my script up my arse,” Liv repeated matter-of-factly. “To be honest, I was more upset that he broke my favourite mug.”

They sat side by side on one of the classroom desks nursing cups of tea as Liv filled Hestia in on the events of the past couple of days. She knew better than to mention anything about her students at the dinner table for fear of being overheard, so she had waited until they were in the privacy of her classroom before telling Hestia about her conversation with Draco.

Hestia shook her head in disbelief. “That little shit. I suppose I shouldn’t have expected anything less from a Malfoy. How long did you give him detention for doing that?”

Liv took a protracted drink from her mug and avoided Hestia’s gaze. Hestia’s eyes widened with surprise at the silent admission. “You didn’t give him detention, did you?”

“I didn’t think it would help the situation,” Liv argued mildly. “He was ready to pack his bags and leave, and I thought punishing him would have just pushed him over the edge. He needed someone to talk to—Merlin, he just needed someone to listen to him—not berate him.”

“You’re a big softie, you are,” Hestia teased fondly, playfully nudging Liv with her elbow. “I’d have given him detention for the rest of term for swearing at me. So, what did he have to say for himself?”

“Not much,” she admitted. “But sometimes silence speaks louder than words. It obviously wasn’t his idea to come back to Hogwarts, that’s for sure. Draco’s in for a rough time of it this year; he’s already had to pay a visit to the Hospital Wing because of some malicious prank.”

Hestia nodded gravely. “Yeah, I heard about that. I think McGonagall’s right to monitor the owl post for the time being. A few students have already received Howlers in the post.”

“How mature of someone to send hate mail to school children,” said Liv bitterly. “It’s not fair, harassing students and treating them as though they don’t belong. This is Hogwarts, for Merlin’s sake, everyone should be able to feel safe and welcome here.”

Hestia nodded in agreement. “I know what you mean. Hogwarts has always felt like it was separate from the rest of the world, like a safe haven—even if staff members do die at an alarmingly regular rate.”

“Especially in the last few years,” Liv mused. “Tell me again why we decided to put our lives on the line?”

“Me? I needed the money,” said Hestia bluntly. “You’re one of the admirable minority who wants to try and better the lives of those students you teach. We can teach them what we know and provide sound advice that they’ll likely ignore. Unfortunately, we can’t protect them from all the ills of the world. However admirable McGonagall’s intentions were saying that the school was open to everyone, we knew this sort of thing would happen. We can keep an eye on the owl post and try to temper the student’s worst impulses—have a zero tolerance policy on bullying and whatnot—but outside the classroom, there’s only so much that we can do.”

Liv sighed miserably, “I know. The best that we can do is prepare them for life out there.”

“Yup,” said Hestia briskly. “It’s a tough old world out there. Shame things can’t be simpler, like they are in the pages of your Muggle books. Which reminds me…” She pulled Liv’s copy of _The Hobbit_ out of her robe pocket and handed it to her. “Rings of invisibility, man-eating trolls and dragons in mountains...are you sure Tolkien wasn’t secretly a wizard?”

Liv raised her eyebrows in surprise and took the proffered book. “You finished it already?”

“Yeah, I couldn’t put it down!” she said excitedly. “Do you have any more books written by him?”

Liv slipped _The Hobbit_ back onto the bookshelf and handed her a copy of _The Fellowship of the Ring._ She could have happily spent the rest of the day with Hestia, discussing Tolkien and drinking tea, but when she glanced up at the clock above her desk she groaned as she realised the time.

“Class is due to start in a few minutes,” she said sliding off of the desk and onto her feet. “I better get ready.”

“Auditions start today, don’t they?” asked Hestia, hopping off of the desk.

“Yup,” Liv sighed, vanishing the empty cups and walking Hestia to the door. “It’ll be interesting to see how many of them rehearsed.”

“I dunno, I think they might surprise you.” Hestia smiled and paused at the classroom door. “I overheard some students talking about it. Seems like a few of them were quite keen to take part.”

“Having willing participants would be a bonus,” laughed Liv.

“It’s a shame that professors can’t take part,” Hestia joked. “It’d be a good excuse to get out of teaching classes—and a chance to hang out with you some more.”

“Oh, you’d get bored stiff, spending that much time with me,” Liv replied with a sheepish smile. Hestia grinned, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“Hmm, somehow I doubt that,” she said quietly. “Thanks again for the book. I’ll see you at lunch.”

Liv waved Hestia off and walked back to her desk with a spring in her step. Anytime she and Hestia spent time together, she felt a balloon of happiness swell inside her chest and right now it felt so big that she worried that she would float out of the castle window and over the surrounding mountains. She managed to anchor herself back to reality by turning her thoughts away from Hestia and onto the upcoming lesson. Despite Hestia’s assurances, Liv couldn’t help but feel a little apprehensive thinking about how these auditions would go. What if none of the students had rehearsed? Or, worse still, what if they refused to take part? While she knew that wasn’t likely, Liv was a worrier by nature and she couldn’t help that the thought cross her mind. She also had the additional worry that Draco Malfoy wouldn’t turn up for class. She thought that she had managed to convince him to stay on at school (at least for the time being) but she hadn’t seen him during breakfast that morning and wondered if the incident with the bubotuber pus was enough for him to throw in the towel and leave Hogwarts.

The school bell rang signalling the start of classes and Liv knew that she’d find out either way soon enough. Sitting at her desk, she watched as the classroom slowly started to fill with students, but there was no sign of Draco. Strangely, there was no sign of Harry, either. Professor McGonagall had pre-warned her of the rivalry between the two boys and Liv began to wonder if the conspicuous absences were connected.

However, to her surprise, Harry and Draco entered the classroom together not a moment later. She thought it was curious, considering it was a well-known fact how much they hated each other, that they would choose to be seen walking side by side (not talking, granted, but their behaviour was more amicable than she had expected for two supposed rivals). When they entered the classroom they immediately parted ways, Harry taking the spare seat next to Ron and Draco to the empty table on the opposite side of the room. With the last of the stragglers rushing to their seats, Liv flicked her wand and the classroom door closed with an audible _click._

“Good morning, everyone,” she greeted them with a broad smile. “I take that revision went well?”

Several students grumbled under their breath and avoided her gaze. Liv wasn’t surprised to see that a few of them looked nervous: they’d spent years learning spellwork and potion-making, but acting was well outwith their comfort zone. Poor Hermione, normally so confident and prepared, had a slight green tinge to her complexion and Neville was sweating profusely.

“Of course it’s easy for me to say but there’s nothing for you to worry about,” Liv assured them. “This is a very informal audition. I just want to see who’s been able to memorise the lines and how you handle speaking in front of an audience. You never know, we might have the next Kenneth Branagh or Vanessa Redgrave in our midst!”

The classroom stared blankly back at her and she waved her hand dismissively. “Not to worry, we’ll get round to talking about their contribution to Shakespearean theatre another time. So...who would like to kick things off today? Any volunteers?” She scanned the reluctant faces of her students for a volunteer and, finally, Harry raised his hand. Liv smiled at him, “Excellent! Mr Potter, would you and your group come stand in front of my desk, please?”

Harry, Ron and Neville shuffled to the front of the classroom looking extremely nervous. Everyone’s eyes were fixed intently on the anxious trio, curious to see if they would sink or swim at the task.

“What scene will you be reading today?” asked Liv.

“Umm…” Harry checked his script again. “Act three, scene one. I’m Tybalt, Ron’s Mercutio and Neville’s Benvolio.”

Liv nodded approvingly. “Alright, proceed when you’re ready.”

Harry and Ron looked expectantly at Neville, who let out a shaky breath before he gathered enough courage and began to speak in a pitch slightly higher than normal.

“I pray thee, good Mercutio, let’s retire. The day is hot, the Capulets abroad. And if we meet, we shall not scape a...um…” Neville quickly glanced at the script. “...Brawl. For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring.”

Neville looked visibly relieved as he finished the first set of his lines and grinned at Liv, who gave him a nod of encouragement. Next, it was Ron’s turn to speak. He spoke with much more confidence than Neville but hadn’t managed to memorise any of his lines, so he read entirely from the script.

“Thou art like one of these fellows that, when he enters the confines of a tavern, claps me his sword upon the table and says ‘God send me no need of thee!’” he boomed, gesticulating wildly. “And by the operation of the second cup draws him on the drawer, when indeed there is no need!”

When it was Harry’s turn to speak, Liv was pleasantly surprised to see that, despite appearing nervous, his delivery of the lines was clear and well-paced.

“Gentlemen, good den,” he began. “A word with one of you.”

“And but one word with one of us?” said Ron jovially. “Couple it with something; make it a word and a blow.”

“You shall find me apt enough to that, sir,” Harry replied evenly. “And you will give me occasion.”

The classroom watched with rapt attention as they performed the scene. Draco sat with his arms crossed and his usual bored expression fixed to his face but his eyes never wavered from Harry. Harry was very good, Liv noted. He had a talent for commanding an audience. It was no surprise that so many people were willing to follow him into battle; they’d certainly enjoy watching him perform on stage. Ron definitely captured the humour of Mercutio’s role very well, and Neville—perhaps not best suited for the role of Benvolio—was an able enough actor and was quick to learn his lines. Liv was sure that she could think of a role for him to play.

When the trio had finished their scene, everyone in the classroom applauded—the Slytherins a little more reluctantly, perhaps, but they clapped nonetheless. Relieved that their ordeal was over, Harry, Ron and Neville hurried back to their seats. Harry glanced over at Draco and caught his eye, who bit his thumb in response. Rather than look affronted, Harry snorted and Draco smirked, looking quite pleased with himself to have made the other boy laugh.

“An excellent performance, boys,” said Liv enthusiastically, clapping along with the rest of the students. “Really excellent. Now, who’s next?”

Theo, Goyle, Pansy and Blaise went next, reciting the opening act. Theo, like Neville, had succeeded in memorising all of his lines. Blaise certainly carried himself like an actor and even if his delivery was a bit shaky, he certainly drew people’s eyes to him when he spoke. Goyle was one of the biggest shocks of the day: although he read entirely from the script, Liv could tell that he had practiced and his delivery wasn’t that bad. Pansy, playing the small part of Abraham, opted to put on a low voice to try and mimic a man and sounded a little like Goyle when she spoke.

Liv watched each student’s performance carefully, taking note of who she thought would be suited for acting roles. Her favourite performance undoubtedly came from Luna who, despite only having two lines, succeeded in delivering one of the most memorable performances of the day. Hermione and Ginny stood together at the front of the class while Luna lingered by the nearby window, a serene smile on her face as she watched her friends perform.

“...And all my fortunes at thy foot I’ll lay and follow thee my lord throughout the world,” said Hermione in a soft, lyrical voice.

“MADAM!” Luna bellowed. She shouted her line so loudly that Pansy screamed in surprise and several of the students tittered. Hermione cleared her throat and continued her recital of Juliet.

“I come anon—but if thou meanest not well, I do beseech thee—”

_“MADAM!”_

Luna screeched and the entire classroom, including Liv, erupted into fits of laughter. Hermione looked mortified but Luna just smiled dreamily. Liv was impressed with Ginny’s performance as well. She had managed to memorise most of her lines and gave a passionate performance as Romeo.

“A thousand times the worse, to want thy light!” she sighed, a mischievous grin teasing her lips. “Love goes toward love as schoolboys from their books; But love from love, towards school with heavy looks.”

She threw the students a cheeky wink and the three girls bowed to rapturous applause, most of which Liv suspected was meant for Luna. After each group had auditioned, only one person was left to perform. Liv had noticed Draco becoming increasingly agitated with each passing audition but she couldn’t hold off the inevitable any longer for him. She looked up from her notes and gave him a sympathetic smile.

“Looks like we’ve saved the best for last,” she said brightly. “Draco, it’s your turn.”

Draco didn’t move immediately, sitting stock-still as though he hadn’t heard her. Slowly, he rose to his feet and carefully walked to the front of the classroom. His expression remained impassive but she noticed that his script was clutched tightly in his left hand. She felt a wave of sympathy for him then, standing alone in front of an entire classroom of stony-faced peers. Harry’s expression was especially grave, his face a storm of emotions as though he were undergoing some silent internal battle as he watched Draco fumble with the pages of his script to find his lines. Draco cleared his throat and opened his mouth to speak but paused and looked up as he heard the loud scraping of a chair. Harry walked quickly to the front of the class, script in hand, to stand by Draco’s side.

“Sorry, Professor, I hope you don’t mind but Draco and I have been rehearsing together, too,” he said hurriedly. “I know I’ve already auditioned but…”

Several students, including Draco, looked bewildered at what he was doing. Ron and Neville shared a confused look and Hermione whispered to Ginny, who shrugged. Liv, however, smiled approvingly at Harry.

“As I said before, this is a very informal audition. Feel free to proceed when you’re ready.”

Harry turned to Draco and muttered, “You be Tybalt and I’ll do Romeo.”

Gratitude momentarily flickered across Draco’s face and he nodded. It was gone as quickly as it had appeared but Harry had seen it and gave him the faintest of smiles before Draco began to speak.

“Romeo, the love I bear thee can afford no better term than this: thou art a villain.”

It came naturally to Draco to look at Harry and speak with such venom; he’d been doing it for years. Harry, however, was in the unenviable position of trying to embody a character that hated this man but preached of peace. He looked Draco in the eye and spoke carefully.

“Tybalt, the reason I have to love thee doth much excuse the appertaining rage to such a greeting. Villain I am none,” he implored. “Therefore...farewell. I see thou know’st me not.”

Draco scoffed, “Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries that thou hast done me; therefore turn and draw!”

Draco jabbed Harry hard in the shoulder but his response was to simply hold up his hands in surrender. “I do protest I never injur’d thee, but love thee better than thou canst devise. Till thou shalt know the reason of my love; And so good Capulet, which I name tender as dearly as my own, be satisfied.”

Liv watched intently as the scene unfolded. Draco and Harry circled each other like predators, each ready to strike; it seemed like a dance in which the boys were well rehearsed. She was pleased that they had both managed to memorise their lines and recited them clearly enough for everyone in the classroom to hear. They were both animated in their movements and delivery but not overly so like Ron had been prone to. And when they spoke, it was as if they spoke only to each other, so caught up in the scene and in the moment that they seemed to have forgotten that a classroom full of students were ogling at their performance. It was the stand out performance of the day, but most importantly, Harry and Draco had the one thing that Liv believed was essential for performing Romeo and Juliet: chemistry.

When the scene ended, Harry and Draco looked intently at one another and only seemed to come back to their senses when Liv and the rest of the class began to clap. Draco immediately marched back to his seat, looking less than pleased for someone who’d just received a round of applause. Harry walked back to his own seat looking a little flustered. When the applause died down, Liv got to her feet and beamed at her students.

“That was a wonderful performance, boys, totally captivating,” she gushed. “Well, that concludes our auditions for the day. Unfortunately, there isn’t enough time to begin our next topic, so you’re all free to enjoy the rest of the period however you please. I’ll be deciding who will be playing which roles over the weekend and I’ll announce the casting on Monday afternoon. Well done again to all of you, I was really impressed by each and every performance. Class dismissed.”

* * *

“Brilliant plan, mate,” Ron exclaimed, slapping Harry on the back. “Doing two auditions means twice the chance of getting cast in the top role! Genius.”

“Yeah, I totally planned that…” laughed Harry awkwardly.

Yes, he’d put as much forethought into that plan as anything else he did. Harry worried sometimes that his impulsive nature would come back to bite him but by some miracle, this little stunt had played in his favour. Not that that had been his intention, of course; he just hated seeing Draco forced to perform in front of everyone on his own. He told himself that he shouldn’t care about that but his feet seemed to have moved of their own accord, and the next thing Harry knew, he was at Draco’s side reciting Shakespeare.

“Why didn’t I think of that?” said Hermione irritably, stuffing her script into her school bag as they marched down the corridor towards the Great Hall. “If she let you do two auditions, do you think she’d let me do another one, too? I’m not sure I performed my best.”

“I thought you were amazing,” Ron crooned, throwing his arm around Hermione’s shoulder and smacking a kiss to her temple. “Professor Tonks would be mental not to cast you as Juliet.”

Hermione cocked an eyebrow at her boyfriend. “I thought you wanted Ginny to play Juliet?”

“Well...yeah,” Ron shrugged. “But only so she and Harry can get back together. You’re by far the better actress.”

Hermione didn’t look entirely convinced by Ron’s flattering remarks but she looked pleased nonetheless.

“We’ve got some time to kill before we need to go to Defence class,” said Harry. “Where do you guys want to go?”

“It’s a nice day,” said Ron, peering out of the nearest window. “Fancy sitting down by the lake for a bit?”

“Oh yes, we can make a start on Professor Switch’s homework!” said Hermione keenly.

“I’d rather not…” Ron muttered under his breath. If Hermione heard his dissenting comment, she chose to ignore it.

“Last night, I was practicing the incantation he discussed during the lesson and I managed to turn my right eye blue,” she continued. “But I’m having some trouble changing the left one; it looks more grey than aquamarine.”

“Potter.”

Harry felt a strong hand grab his shoulder and he paused. When he turned his head, he was surprised to find that it was Draco who had stopped him.

“Oh. Um...hi.” Harry stumbled over his words and felt an involuntary shiver as Draco’s hand slid from his shoulder. “Good work with the audition. I think we both did—”

“Yeah, I want to talk to you about that,” Draco cut in. He glanced over Harry’s shoulder, down the corridor, and back to Harry again. “It’ll only take a minute…”

Harry turned his head towards his friends and saw Ron and Hermione walking further and further away along the corridor chatting animatedly to one another, neither realising that Harry was no longer with them. If it was only going to take a minute, he’d be able to catch up with them. He faced Draco again and nodded.

“Uh sure. What do you want to talk about?”

Draco inclined his head and Harry followed him down a deserted corridor where nobody could overhear them. When he was confident that they were completely alone, he faced Harry and asked, “Why did you do that?”

Harry frowned at him. “Sorry?”

“Why did you help me?” he asked in an accusatory tone.

Harry thought about the question for a moment, still not entirely sure himself why he’d helped Draco. He shrugged. “Why not? We’d been practising together, hadn’t we?”

“I know,” said Draco stiffly. “But it’s not like we’re friends. Why would go out of your way to help me?”

“I dunno,” Harry replied defensively. “But if it bothered you that much, then I won’t do it again.”

“Good. Because I don’t need your help,” said Draco curtly. Harry groaned and turned to leave, already regretting his decision to help him out, but Draco grabbed his shoulder and said hurriedly, “Bugger. Potter, wait!”

Harry let out an exasperated sigh and turned back to face Draco again.

“What is it?” he asked sharply.

Draco looked incredibly awkward, seemingly unable to find the right words. Lowering his gaze, he muttered, “I’ve learned from experience that most people don’t do something for nothing. So, naturally, I suspected that you must have some hidden agenda for helping me. But, of course, you’re Harry bloody Potter; you actually help people because you _enjoy_ it or something. Merlin knows why. It’s a waste of bloody time, if you ask me...”

“Will it make you feel better if I tell you that I helped you for no other reason than it will annoy you immensely to beat you to top billing?” Harry smirked. The tension in Draco’s shoulders eased a little.

“Yes, that makes me feel much better,” he admitted. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I don’t appreciate it. It’s just...I’m used to doing things on my own. It’s been a long time since anyone helped me. So, you know...”

Draco’s voice trailed and Harry cocked an eyebrow at him. “Is this a roundabout way of you saying thank you?”

“Don’t push your luck,” he warned but Harry grinned at him.

“You’re welcome, Malfoy,” he simpered and his grin broadened as Draco’s pale cheeks turned pink.

“This doesn’t make us friends,” Draco reminded him.

“I know,” said Harry. He hesitated a moment before adding as casually as possible, “But maybe we don’t have to be enemies, either.”

Draco looked uncertain at this proposition. “But...what are we if we’re not enemies?”

“Do we need to put a label on it?”

“I suppose not…” he said slowly. “Does that mean that I can’t take the piss out of you anymore? If I’m being completely honest with myself, I’m not sure I can manage that.”

Harry gave a dramatic sigh. “You’re right, that is a big ask. I don’t think I can refrain from making jokes about you either, you’re such an easy target.”

“Speak for yourself,” Draco scoffed, giving him what Harry thought was supposed to be a disparaging once-over. But, if he didn’t know any better, he’d say Draco was checking him out. He dismissed that possibility almost as quickly as it had entered his head.

“At the very least, can we settle for not pulling our wands on each other this year?” he suggested. “I’d like to have at least one year free from mortal peril. Or detention.”

Draco considered Harry’s proposal in silence for a moment before giving a careless shrug. “I suppose there’s no harm in trying.”

“Great!” Harry beamed and held his hand out to Draco to seal the deal. Draco looked at Harry’s hand and snorted.

“You’re pushing your luck again, Potter,” he drawled. Walking past Harry, he struggled to hide his smile, but Harry caught a glimpse of it before he disappeared from sight down a set of stairs in the direction of the dungeons.


	13. Chapter 13

Harry and Draco’s fledgling friendship (or, more accurately, not-friends-but-no-longer-enemies-ship) was almost immediately put to the test as they headed to their next class of the day.

Defence Against the Dark Arts was one of the few classes that Harry had been looking forward to when he had decided to return to Hogwarts. It was by far his best subject and after his lacklustre start in both Herbology and Transfiguration, he was keen to show off his abilities at something he was actually good at. If he learned some useful skills that would help him on the road to becoming an Auror, that was an added bonus. Harry’s excitement grew when he entered the classroom to find that all of the desks had been pushed up against the walls and seats arranged in pairs had been set out. That could mean only one thing…

“Today is going to be a practical lesson,” Hestia announced as the students filed into the room. “Everyone just grab a seat for now, we’ll need to go over some safety checks before we can begin. Are we all here? No stragglers? Brilliant. Now, first things first…” She flicked her wand and a large pile of parchment sat atop her desk took flight, distributing a sheet to each of the students. “Everyone needs to fill in a waiver in order to participate in the upcoming practical lessons, which will be held once a week during lessons on Fridays. Everyone here is of age and can decide for themselves whether or not they consent to taking part. Miss Weasley, do you have a question?”

Ginny’s hand had immediately shot up into the air and she asked, “Yes, Professor, um…”

“Jones,” Hestia confirmed shortly. Ginny nodded.

“Professor Jones, I’m just curious...what exactly are we consenting to?”

“I’m just about to get onto that very subject. Our lessons will actually entail learning two obscure but highly useful branches of magic...” Hestia began scribbling across the blackboard and Harry’s momentary feelings of elation were immediately extinguished as he realised what they would be learning. Hestia underlined two words that she had written on the blackboard. “Legilimency and Occlumency. Who here can tell me what each spell does? Miss Granger?”

Hermione’s hand had shot so quickly into the air that she nearly knocked Harry’s glasses off of his face.

“Oops! Sorry, Harry…” she whispered before answering, “Legilimency is the act of magically navigating through a person’s mind. A person who practices this art is known as a Legilimens. Some wizards are born with the ability but it is an incredibly rare gift. Occlumency is the opposite of Legilimency as it is used to shield one’s mind from the invasion and influence of a Legilimens.”

Hestia looked impressed and nodded approvingly. “A perfect textbook answer, Miss Granger. Ten points to Gryffindor.”

Hermione beamed at Harry but he couldn’t return the smile. He was thinking back to his Occlumency lessons with Snape during his fifth year, which were nothing short of disastrous. No matter how hard he had tried, he had failed utterly at learning even the most basic form of Occlumency. A fatal error on Harry’s part, as that had allowed Voldemort to implant false memories in his mind and ultimately caused Sirius’s death.

Harry dug a thumbnail into the palm of his hand, using the pain to distract himself from spiralling down that dark road again. Instead, he tried desperately to focus on Hestia’s words as she addressed the class.

“It’s important for me to clarify that participation in these lessons is not compulsory. This is advanced magic we’re delving into, and it is extremely invasive. Anyone who chooses not to participate will not be penalised when it comes to N.E.W.T. examinations. You will be required to observe this week’s lessons, then you will be excused from attending classes on Fridays until we conclude this section of the course before Christmas break. You will be expected, of course, to be spending that extra time in the library; questions about Occlumency and Legilimency will come up in the final examination. Lessons on Mondays and Tuesdays will be dedicated to learning the mastery of nonverbal and wandless magic.”

Harry’s spirits lifted a little when he heard that. So, he wouldn’t have to do Occlumency lessons after all. He could spend the extra time focusing on Transfiguration instead.

“However…” Hestia continued. “For those of you interested in working in law enforcement, security or banking after you graduate, participation in these lessons is essential. At a minimum, you must learn basic Occlumency to even be considered for roles in those fields.”

Harry’s heart sank. Of course, he needed to take the classes if he wanted to stand any chance of becoming an Auror. He should have known better than to get his hopes up. Hestia gave them all a couple of minutes to decide whether or not they wished to participate in the lessons, reiterating the point that there was no pressure to do so. A couple of students raised their hands and said that they didn’t feel comfortable taking part, so Hestia took their unsigned forms and asked them to sit at the side of the classroom so that they could observe the lesson instead. Harry stared at the waiver, unsure of what he should do. Casting a furtive glance around the classroom, he was surprised to see so many of his classmates agreeing to participate. Neville was the first to sign his form and hand it to Hestia, closely followed by Hermione, Ginny and Theo. Draco signed his form, looking completely at ease as he did so. Merlin, even Goyle was agreeing to do it. Still, Harry wasn’t entirely convinced that this was a good idea but he knew that he couldn’t back out now; otherwise, he’d never live it down. Scribbling his messy signature at the bottom of the parchment, he handed the waiver to Hestia who smiled at him.

“There’s nothing to worry about, Harry,” she whispered. “I’ve heard you’re a dab hand at Defence. I’m sure that you’ll breeze through this.”

Harry slunk back to his seat without responding. He could take an educated guess at how these lessons were going to go and they were going to be anything but a breeze. Hestia collected the last of the waivers and stowed them in the top drawer of her desk before turning back to the students.

“Now that we have the formalities out of the way, the practical lesson can now begin. I’m going to be brutally honest with all of you now—there’s no guarantee that any of you will be able to master either skill,” she warned them. “Mastering Occlumency is particularly difficult as it requires a great deal of willpower as well as a high degree of mental and emotional discipline. But, I’m going to teach you techniques that should help you master the basics. The first thing we need to learn is how to clear our minds. We need to make our minds blank and empty in order to prevent a Legilimens from perceiving our emotions and thoughts…”

Harry listened as Hestia talked them through various techniques to help them empty their minds. He sat with the other students, eyes closed, trying to picture nothing and failing miserably. All he could think about was how badly he was going to fail at this.

“I know that this is a daunting task so I’m going to ease you into this,” said Hestia. “Everyone, pair up with someone that you know and, ideally, trust.”

Everyone quickly paired off: Dean grabbed Seamus, Hermione stepped next to Ron and Neville nodded to Harry. Ginny hooked arms with Luna and Pansy paired with Goyle. When everyone else had paired off, only Theo and Draco were left without partners. Any previous year, they would have immediately partnered up; now, they both looked hesitant. But with no-one else to turn to, they reluctantly approached one another. With everyone now ready with a partner, Hestia addressed the classroom again.

“We’ll take it in turns,” she explained. “I advise you all to sit while you do this; people are prone to falling over when their minds are being probed. Decide amongst yourselves who will go first.”

Everyone took their seats. Neville and Harry faced each other, and Harry felt a little relieved that Neville looked as nervous as he did.

“You go first,” Neville offered. “I’ll try and fend you off as best as I can, but I don’t think I’m going to be any good at this.”

Harry gave Neville a weak smile. “That makes two of us.”

“Partners, on the count of three, raise your wands and repeat the incantation, _Legilimens,”_ Hestia instructed. “Ready?”

Harry raised his wand and pointed it at Neville who took a deep breath and closed his eyes, readying himself.

“One...two...three... _Legilimens!”_

When the words left Harry’s lips, he felt an invisible tendril shoot from the tip of his wand straight towards Neville’s head, only to be met with some unseen resistance. Neville screwed up his face in concentration as he tried to keep up the magical barrier protecting his mind, but with a slight push from Harry, the barrier crumbled and fell. Suddenly, Harry’s mind was filled with memories that were not his own, flashing across his eyes like a film reel of random scenes haphazardly spliced together: Neville tending to exotic plants in a large greenhouse...Harry and Neville on the train to Hogwarts talking about Asha...Neville beheading Nagini…Luna pushing Neville back onto a bed and straddling his lap—

Harry immediately withdrew. Lowering his wand, he broke the connection and Neville gasped for breath.

“Did I manage to repel you?” he panted. Harry shook his head.

“No, I just didn’t think you’d want to me to see you and Luna...you know…”

Neville cursed under his breath and shook his head in disappointment. “I thought I’d managed to push you out of my head. I appreciate you breaking the connection when you did though, thanks.”

It was an unpleasant sensation, viewing someone’s memories like this. Harry remembered all too well what a brief glimpse of Snape’s memories had been like. The worst part of Legilimency for Harry, the most invasive part, was that unlike a pensieve—where he viewed memories at arm’s length—he could actually feel the other person’s emotions as well as see their memories. He remembered Snape’s emotions when he had momentarily infiltrated his mind—the fear, the frustration, the inadequacy—and Harry felt as though he had glimpsed at something that wasn’t his to look at. He had the same uncomfortable feeling when he entered Neville’s mind; he could sense his friend’s fear but also his trust in Harry. He slipped his wand into his pocket and braced himself. If Neville trusted him enough to access his memories, Harry ought to put the same trust in him.

Harry let out a shaky breath. “Your turn?”

Neville nodded and pointed his wand at Harry. “Ready?”

“Nope,” he quipped. “Just go for it.”

Neville cleared his throat. “Okay. One...two...three... _Legilimens!”_

When Snape had penetrated Harry’s mind during their Occlumency lessons, Harry felt as though Snape was cutting through his mind with a scalpel, sifting through his mess of memories with precision and purpose. But when Neville did it—probably because he had never done it before—Harry felt as though his brain was being beaten about by a whisk. Memories from the distant past got tangled up in more recent ones: Dudley’s fist connecting with the side of Harry’s face...Harry fighting helplessly against Inferi as they dragged him towards a watery grave...Harry tumbling through the air in a storm as hundreds of Dementors surround him...Harry’s mother screaming and a flash of green light—

Suddenly, Neville withdrew from Harry’s mind, ashen-faced and sweating.

“Bloody hell, Harry…” he croaked, collapsing back into his seat.

“I’m sorry,” said Harry woefully. “I can’t control the memories that come into my head. I didn’t mean to upset you—”

Neville waved his hand to silence Harry and he quickly shut his mouth. He felt a stab of shame as Neville couldn’t even look him in the eye. They weren’t the only ones who looked shaken. Ginny had tears streaming down her cheeks and Luna patted her on the shoulder, looking glum. Ron was paler than usual while Hermione looked as though she was going to be sick. Dean hissed at Seamus, demanding “Why didn’t you tell me?”, but Seamus merely crossed his arms and turned away, his expression defiant.

“It’s normal to feel nauseous and disoriented,” Hestia assured them. “Those symptoms will ease over time with practice. Let’s take a five-minute break before we try again.”

And so it continued. Back and forth, Harry and Neville tried to resist each other’s mental attacks. While Neville improved over time, predictably, Harry failed miserably. It felt like Snape’s lessons all over again: the more he practised, the worse that he got. Thirty minutes felt like hours and by the end of the first hour, everyone looked exhausted. Hestia, however, had no intention of going easy on them.

“Okay, time to make things a little more challenging.” Ignoring everyone’s groans of protest, she raised a black velvet bag into the air. “In a real-life situation, it wouldn’t be your friends trying to access your memories. I’m going to pull out two names at random and that is who you’ll be paired with for the second half of the lesson. Our first pairing will be…” Hestia dipped her hand into the bag and removed two pieces of parchment and read the names aloud, “Luna Lovegood and Pansy Parkinson.”

Luna smiled mildly and sat next to Pansy, who looked moodier than usual to be paired with the dotty Ravenclaw. Harry smiled to himself: he knew fine well that appearances could be deceiving and Luna, despite her benign demeanour, was more than capable in a duel.

“Our next pairing,” Hestia continued. “Is Theo Nott and Ginny Weasley.”

Ginny marched over to Theo’s side, both of them looking equally determined. Harry didn’t know much about Theo but he knew that when Ginny was armed with a wand, she was a force to be reckoned with. He could only imagine the horrendous Bat-Bogey Hex Ginny would inflict on him if he managed to take a peek into her memories.

Hestia read out several more names: Hermione was paired with Millicent Bulstrode, Ron with Blaise and Neville with Seamus. Hestia rummaged through the bottom of the bag and pulled out the next two names.

“Harry Potter and—” Harry held his breath. “—Draco Malfoy.”

Draco smirked and strutted over to sit in front of Harry. Harry wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole.

“So much for not pulling our wands on each other,” joked Draco.

Harry, however, didn’t laugh. They may have agreed to an armistice but that didn’t mean that he wanted Draco wandering around inside of his head. There were a lot of things in there that he didn’t want anyone to see. If Harry wasn’t worried enough already, Draco’s confidence only made him more nervous.

“You can go first if you like,” Draco offered, crossing his legs and lacing his fingers together in his lap, looking totally relaxed. Harry tentatively raised his wand and pointed it at Draco.

“Alright,” he muttered. “Ready?”

“Always,” Draco preened.

Harry gripped his wand a little tighter. “Okay. One...two...three... _Legilimens!”_

Harry knew that he was in trouble the moment that he had uttered the incantation. When his magic tried to reach out and infiltrate Draco’s mind, he felt like he had hit a brick wall. No images or sound emitted from Draco’s mind. Nothing. Harry gritted his teeth and pushed further, determined to break Draco’s defences, but his mind was shrouded in layer upon layer of darkness. It was impenetrable. Eventually, Harry had to admit defeat and lowered his wand, breaking the connection. Draco smiled serenely at him.

“Nothing to see here, Potter,” he sneered.

Harry felt a flash of anger and frustration rise up inside of him, irritated by Draco’s relaxed demeanour. He didn’t even look as though it had cost him any effort to repel Harry’s attack. Draco raised his own wand and pointed it at Harry.

“My turn.”

“Just give me a minute,” said Harry irritably. His heart pounded painfully in his chest as panic and fear rose up inside of him. It was no use trying to clear his mind when all he could think about was how Draco was going to have a field day wandering through his memories.

Draco let out a dramatic sigh. “Are you ready now?”

“Give me a minute!” Harry snapped. Draco tsked and rolled his eyes.

“Hurry up, will you? We haven’t got all day.”

Harry closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, calming himself as best as he could. Finally, he gave Draco a curt nod. “Alright, I’m ready.”

“About bloody time,” he muttered. _“Legilimens!”_

Harry had tried to brace himself but nothing could have prepared him for the sheer force that Draco’s spell struck him with. If Snape’s magic was like a scalpel and Neville’s a whisk, it felt as though Draco had hit Harry’s mind with a battering ram, tearing through his paltry mental defences like they were made of tissue paper. He tried desperately to rebuild the defences to protect his mind, but it was hopeless, Harry was powerless to resist as a tidal wave of memories flashed through his mind: Harry trapped inside a dark room, cold and hungry...Harry running along a dank, damp chamber as fast as his legs would carry him with a sword in his hand...Harry and Hermione leaping out of a window into darkness—

Draco lowered his wand and severed the connection between them. Slowly, Harry pried his eyes open, realising only then that he’d been clinging tightly to the edge of his seat.

“Were you even trying to keep me out of your head?” asked Draco. Harry stared daggers at him.

“Of course I tried!” he snarled. “You’re just—I can’t—”

“You’re too emotional,” Draco explained unhelpfully. “You need to learn to compartmentalise your feelings, otherwise your mind is like an open book.”

“Well it might be easy for someone like you to shut down their emotions, Malfoy, but it doesn’t come so easily to the rest of us,” Harry retorted. Draco’s eyes narrowed.

“I’m just trying to help you,” he hissed.

“Well, don’t!” Harry shot back. “You’re just making it worse.”

“Fine,” Draco spat, raising his wand again. “Have it your way. Three...two…”

“I’m not ready yet,” Harry rushed out.

“Maybe if you weren’t such a hot-headed idiot then you would be ready!” Draco bit back. _“Legilimens!”_

Harry had no time to brace himself before Draco’s spell hit him again, calling forth a torrent of new, unhappy memories: Draco stamping on Harry’s face on the Hogwarts Express...Harry and Draco rolling about the Quidditch pitch viciously kicking and punching each other...Draco laughing in Harry’s face, making him feel angry and small and humiliated—

“Alright, everyone!” Hestia called to get the students’ attention. “Let’s take a break there, shall we?”

Draco lowered his wand, breaking the connection between them, his expression calm and collected, whereas Harry was a panting, shivering wreck.

“I wasn’t ready!” he snarled.

“And you never will be,” Draco shot back. “Not unless you learn to get your emotions under control.”

It was taking all of Harry’s willpower not to hex Draco right there and then. He should have known better than to try and be friendly with Draco. Clearly, he was enjoying tormenting Harry, just like he always had. So much for friendship, or whatever it was…

Hestia stepped up to the front of the classroom and faced her students. “Before our first lesson ends, we have time for a couple of demonstrations! Any volunteers? Nope, I didn’t think so.” She pulled two names from her velvet bag and called out, “And our lucky winners are...Neville Longbottom and Gregory Goyle. Would you gentlemen please come to the front of the class and give us a little demonstration of what we’ve been learning today?”

Neville’s jaw visibly tensed and he marched up to the classroom to stand next to Goyle, who cast him an apprehensive look.

“Mr Longbottom, since I pulled your name out of the bag first, you’ll be the first to try and infiltrate Mr Goyle’s mind,” Hestia instructed. “Mr Goyle, are you ready?”

Goyle clenched his eyes tightly shut and nodded.

“Very well, then. Mr Longbottom, on the count of three,” said Hestia and Neville pointed his wand at Goyle. “One...two...three…”

 _“Legilimens!”_ Neville cried and the classroom watched with morbid fascination as a silent battle of mental willpower took place. For a few moments, nothing seemed to happen as the boys stood in front of each other, stock-still with expressions of extreme concentration on their faces. Then, suddenly, Goyle clenched his fists and grunted. Neville gripped his wand more tightly and frowned—clearly, he was putting everything that he could into breaking Goyle’s mental fortress. Goyle’s shoulders began to shake and his expression of concentration morphed into one of pain.

“Stop it, he’s hurting him!” cried Pansy, looking distraught.

However, Hestia raised her hand and said, “Let’s give him a chance to pull this back. He just needs to concentrate on keeping his mind clear.”

But Goyle was quickly losing control. Soon, tears were streaming down his cheeks and it was then that Hestia finally decided that she ought to step in, swiftly lowering Neville’s wand arm to break the connection. As soon as the connection was severed, Goyle collapsed to the floor onto his hands and knees, shaking and whimpering like a wounded animal. Pansy leapt out of her chair and fell by Goyle’s side, hugging his hulking shoulders as they shook.

The classroom was deathly silent except for Goyle’s shaking breaths and Pansy’s consoling whispers as she helped her friend onto his feet and walked him back to his seat. Everyone had their eyes fixed upon Goyle, shocked at the sight of a boy famed and feared for his size and strength reduced to a shivering wreck. But Harry wasn’t looking at Goyle. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the horrified expression on Neville’s face.

“I think that’s enough for today,” said Hestia thickly. “Class dismissed. Mr Goyle, Mr Longbottom, you two stay behind, please.”

* * *

The mood as everyone left Hestia’s class was subdued. Physically and mentally exhausted from their Occlumency lessons, most of Harry’s classmates walked with their heads bowed, looking thoroughly miserable. Keen to get as much distance between himself and Draco as possible, Harry snatched his school bag off of the floor and hurried out of the class before Ron and Hermione had even gathered their things. Draco, however, was hot on Harry’s tail, running down the corridor after him.

“Wait up, Potter. I want to talk to you!”

“I’m busy,” he replied stiffly. Draco grabbed Harry’s shoulder and spun him around.

“Will you stop walking and just listen to me!” he cried. Harry shook Draco’s hand off of his shoulder and glared at him.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” he asked shortly.

“Well, I’m going to hazard a guess that you’re upset about what happened in class—”

“Oh, you think?” said Harry sarcastically. Draco glowered at him.

“See, this is why you’re useless at Occlumency,” he said, jabbing Harry in the shoulder. “You always let your temper get the better of you!”

“I’m not losing my temper!” Harry shouted. Draco cocked an eyebrow at him and Harry’s shoulders sagged. “The issue of my temper is beside the point—you didn’t help matters.”

Draco let out a dry laugh. “You think just because we’ve come to a truce that I’m going to go easy on you during lessons? In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve got a mean competitive streak.”

“You’ve got a mean streak, that’s for sure,” Harry muttered. Draco smirked at him.

“Don’t pretend that you’re not just as competitive as I am. It’s one of your few admirable qualities. If you weren’t so impulsive, I dare say that you’d make a good Slytherin.”

There was more truth to that statement than Harry was willing to admit.

“So is that what you wanted to talk to me about?” he asked. “My temper and how you’ve finally found something that you’re better at than me?”

Draco scoffed. “There’s plenty that I’m better at than you! But no, I didn’t come here to brag.”

“That makes a nice change,” Harry quipped. Draco rolled his eyes.

“If we can refrain from ribbing each other for more than a few seconds…”

“That’s a big ask,” he joked. Smirking at the increasingly irritated expression on Draco’s face, he held up his hands in mock-surrender. “Okay, I’m shutting up now.”

“Thank Merlin for that,” Draco muttered. “What I’ve been _trying_ to say is that yes, you are atrocious at Occlumency…” Harry bristled but kept his mouth shut. “...but as luck would have it, it is a branch of magic that I have a particular talent for. So, if you would like a few pointers, then I am happy to assist you.”

Harry blinked. “You...you want to help me?”

Draco gave a careless shrug. “You helped me with the audition, so I’m simply returning the favour. That is, if you want it.”

Harry couldn’t believe it. Draco Malfoy offering to help Harry with anything was nothing short of miraculous. He wished that Colin Creevey was here with his camera to capture the moment.

“Umm...yeah. That’d be great,” he said, giving Draco a slight smile. “Thanks.”

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Draco teased, cupping his ear. “Did Harry Potter just say thank you? To me?”

“Piss off, Malfoy,” he replied with a wry smile. Draco gave a dramatic sigh.

“As I suspected, my ears were playing a trick on me. Well, if you’re not doing anything this weekend…”

“Yeah, this weekend’s good,” Harry agreed, nodding vigorously.

“What about Sunday after breakfast?” he offered. Initially, Harry nodded in agreement but then his shoulders sagged and he groaned.

“I can’t, I’m going down to Hagrid’s for a visit.” Disappointment flashed across Draco’s face, so he added quickly, “But I’m free in the afternoon if you’re not doing anything?”

Draco smiled and nodded in agreement. “Alright then, it’s a date.”

“W-what?” Harry spluttered and Draco sniggered.

“I’m joking, Potter,” he smirked as Harry blushed furiously. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist. See you later, Scarhead.”

“I really hate that name,” Harry shouted after him but Draco merely shrugged and waved him off.

* * *

“Where’ve you been?” asked Ron curiously as Harry finally took a seat at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. “You’ve nearly missed lunch!”

“Bathroom,” he lied, stuffing a sandwich into his mouth so that he could avoid further interrogation. Ron seemed satisfied with this explanation and let the matter drop.

“Well, Hermione and I have just been talking about how horrendous that lesson was. Honestly, how are we supposed to keep that up until Christmas break?”

“Yes, Professor Jones has really thrown us in at the deep end,” Hermione agreed. “But I don’t think that lesson went as well as she had hoped, especially at the very end.”

Ron pulled a face. “Yeah, that was so awkward to watch. Did you see the look on Neville’s face?”

Hermione nodded glumly. “He looked as shaken as Goyle did.”

“What do you think Neville saw?” asked Ron thoughtfully.

Harry was silent for a moment, wondering the same thing. What memories could have upset the likes of Gregory Goyle so much that they would cause him to burst into tears in the middle of class?

“You don’t think it was because of what happened in the Room of Requirement, do you?” he wondered.

Ron shrugged. “I dunno, maybe. I guess you never know what’s going on in people’s private lives. Whatever it was, it was enough to spook Neville. Hey! Maybe he saw Goyle’s memories of Snape, that would give me the willies, too.”

“You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead,” Hermione warned in a low voice.

“I’m not speaking ill of Snape, I’m just stating the facts,” Ron argued. “He was a spooky bloke. Surely you’re not going to argue with me on that.”

Harry looked up and down the Gryffindor table for Neville but he wasn’t there. Rather ominously, Goyle was absent from the Slytherin table as well.

“So, is this what it was like when you were practising Occlumency with Snape?” asked Ron curiously. Harry couldn’t help but laugh.

“No, that was far worse.”

“Yeah, I’ll count my blessings that I was partnered with Zabini. I’d choose that pompous git over Snape any day,” Ron relented. “Zabini was a tough one to crack but I managed to get past his defences a couple of times. Honestly, he’s just as vain as people think he is—most of his memories consisted of him admiring his reflection in the mirror and fixing his hair.”

“Ron, you shouldn’t be telling us what memories you saw!” chastised Hermione.

“Why not?” said Ron with a careless shrug. “It wasn’t like I saw anything interesting.”

“It’s highly unethical,” she argued. “How would you like it if Zabini went to the Slytherins and told them about your memories?”

“I’d hex off his hair that he loves so much,” said Ron irritably, then he started to look worried. “He better not say anything! You don’t think he will, do you?”

“I don’t think anyone will be saying anything,” Hermione assured him. “Everyone revealed something about themselves today. I think there’s an unspoken agreement in place that if you want your secret kept, then you better keep theirs.”

“Yeah, he wouldn’t dare say a thing,” said Ron, not looking entirely convinced.

“What was it like working with Malfoy, Harry?” asked Hermione interestedly.

“Still not as bad as Snape,” he joked.

“Yeah, tough luck getting paired with him, mate,” Ron commiserated before asking, “So...see anything interesting in Malfoy’s head?”

“Ronald!” Hermione hissed.

“Come on, Hermione!” he groaned. “When are we ever going to get another chance to gain some insight into Malfoy’s frame of mind?”

“Like you’re interested in what makes Malfoy tick, you just want some dirt on him!” she said hotly.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he quipped. “You never know when it might come in handy.”

“Now you’re starting to sound like a Slytherin,” she retorted. Ron gasped, looking affronted.

“You take that back!” he demanded.

“I didn’t see anything,” said Harry quickly, hoping to de-escalate the argument that was about to erupt. “I hate to say it but he’s really good at Occlumency. I couldn’t get past his defences.”

“Bugger,” Ron grumbled. He turned his attention to Hermione. “What about Bulstrode? Don’t give me that look, Hermione, I know that you must have seen something!”

“Even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you,” she replied hotly. “It’s not my place to tell.”

“It was her cats, wasn’t it?” he grinned. “She never shuts up about them. She’s like my great-aunt Tessie; she’s a mad cat lady, too.” Despite her best efforts, a smile teased the corner of Hermione’s lips and Ron howled with laughter, taking that as the affirmative. “It _was_ cats, wasn’t it? Merlin, the Slytherins like to paint themselves as a mysterious bunch but they’re really quite boring, aren’t they? Not as boring as Zabini, mind you…”

“Have you considered that perhaps you only saw what Zabini wanted you to see?” Hermione suggested with a slight edge to her voice. Ron frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, an advanced Occlumens can produce a faux layer of mentality that can completely throw off the perspective of the one using Legilimency against them.”

Ron stared blankly at Hermione. “Can I have that again but in English, please?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Fake memories, Ron. I seriously doubt that Zabini only thinks about personal grooming. It’s a clever tactic on his part: if you can’t block someone out of your head, you can throw them off by showing them a false memory.”

Harry chewed his turkey sandwich without really tasting it, his thoughts firmly on Draco and his offer to help him with Occlumency. He never could have imagined Draco Malfoy of all people offering to help him with anything and it seemed even less likely that he would accept it. But after spending a little time with him in the Hospital Wing, Harry cautiously thought that perhaps Draco wasn’t all bad. Not perfect by any means—he was still an arrogant git who drove Harry crazy—but when he managed to refrain from self-aggrandising, Harry thought that he made for quite entertaining company.

“Coming Harry?”

Ron patted Harry’s shoulder and got to his feet. Harry slung his bag over his shoulder and headed to his next class (Potions with Slughorn) wondering how much longer he and Draco could keep this fledgling friendship of theirs going before they inevitably drew wands again. He wasn’t sure but he was willing to at least give it a shot.


	14. Chapter 14

Despite a tumultuous start to the week, Harry’s weekend passed without incident. Most of Saturday was spent trying to catch up with his homework, which was already mounting up. Professor Slughorn had assigned them to write essays listing the effects and side effects of Polyjuice Potion. As luck would have it, this was something that Harry, Ron and Hermione had plenty of experience with. He also had Professor Switch’s homework assignment on explaining the differences between learned human transmutation and Metamorphmagi. But Harry found himself struggling to concentrate on anything as he stared longingly out of the window at the dilapidated Quidditch pitch. Although there wouldn’t be any matches this year, he hoped to find some free time to take his new Firebolt out for a spin (if it ever arrived in the owl post, that is). He missed the feeling of the wind in his hair and speeding as fast as he could through the sky, preferably while being chased by someone. He hoped he could squeeze in a quick fly around the castle before the end of the weekend.

On Sunday morning, Harry, Ron and Hermione visited Hagrid and “enjoyed” a plateful of rock cakes while filling each other in on what they’d been up to over the holidays. Hagrid had spent most of the summer months helping Professor McGonagall and the other staff members repair the school. Unfortunately, he still hadn’t got around to fixing his old hut which had been destroyed during the battle, so he was temporarily living in a tent on the edge of the construction site where his new home would be built.

“The tent is lovely, Hagrid,” Hermione offered, holding her rock cake but making no attempt to eat it. Hagrid topped up their large mugs of tea and nodded.

“Yeah, it’s a lot bigger than the ol’ house,” he admitted. “More room than I need, if I’m honest. I’ll be happy to finish buildin’ the new one an’ get out ‘er here. Fang seems to like it, though.”

Hagrid’s enormous boarhound lay on a large pile of plump cushions in the corner of the tent wagging his tail contentedly. Harry suspected that Hagrid would have a hard time convincing his loyal pet to vacate the comfort of the tent for a smaller cabin when it was ready.

“Losin’ the cabin was a nuisance but it’s not the end of the world. The worst part was losin’ the garden. After the battle, I came back to check the damage only to find that my bleedin’ cabbages were ruined. There’ll be no Spring harvest unfortunately, I’ll need to wait ‘til the new year to replant them. An’ no pumpkins this year neither, I don’t know what we’re goin’ to do fer Halloween.” 

“We’re sorry about your garden, Hagrid,” Hermione offered gently but Hagrid chuckled and shook his head. 

“Not to worry, Hermione. Losin’ ma cabbages is a small price to pay fer gettin’ rid of You-Know-Who once and for all!” he said brightly. “I just count ma blessins that we’re all here together now. I’m so glad ye’s decided to come back this year! I’ve missed you lot.”

“We’ve missed you too, Hagrid,” said Harry with a sincere smile. 

They introduced Hagrid to Asha, who Fang gave a curious sniff before losing interest and flopping back onto his pile of cushions. Hagrid laughed as Asha scurried up his arm and took refuge in his shaggy black beard, only two wide grey eyes visible amongst the mass of wiry black hair.

“She’s a character this one, ain’t she?” he chortled. “You found her at the Magical Menagerie, ye say?”

Harry nodded. “To be honest, I think they were glad to be rid of her. Apparently, she was a bit of a troublemaker.”

“Seems like she found her kindred spirit then, innit?” laughed Hagrid. “I suspec’ that she’s not a purebred ferret. I reckon she might be half-Jarvey.”

“You think so?” asked Harry interestedly. Hagrid nodded.

“Her tail’s bushier than a common ferret an’ she’s a bit larger than normal. I’m guessin’ she hasn’t spoken to you?”

“No, she hasn’t said anything.”

“If she’s only half-Jarvey she might not be able to. Probably for the best,” Hagrid mused. “Jarveys are cheeky little blighters, they usually just throw insults at ye. How’s yer rock cake, Hermione?”

Hermione looked a little startled at being addressed and glanced at the cake on her plate, which resembled a boulder more than a delicious confectionery. 

“Oh. Yes, right...” she hesitated before trying to take a bite out it but her teeth clacked off of the solid surface like it was made of stone. Hermione winced and carefully sat her cake back onto the plate. “It seems I’ve not got much of an appetite, I’m afraid. I’ve been feeling a bit under the weather today.”

On the pretence that Hermione was feeling poorly and needed to go to bed, the trio wished their friend farewell. However, as they headed back up to the castle, Hermione rubbed her sore jaw and groaned.

“I might need to go to see Madam Pomfrey,” she whimpered. “I think I chipped a tooth on that rock cake.”

“You want me to come with you to the Hospital Wing?” Ron offered. 

Ron and Hermione hurried ahead, promising to meet Harry back in the Gryffindor common room later on. Harry walked slowly in the direction of the castle entrance, but as the Quidditch Stadium came into view, he paused. Checking his watch, he noted that there was still another hour to lunch—plenty of time to have a look around the pitch before meeting Draco for some remedial Occlumency lessons. Marching down the steep grassy slope, the blustery breeze whipped his hair about his face, cooling his clammy skin. Today would be perfect flying weather—if he had a broomstick. 

Harry walked around the perimeter of the stadium, mentally crossing his fingers that the broom shed was still in one piece. As he rounded the corner, Harry hissed a triumphant “yes!” under his breath as the old broom shed came into view. Despite the surrounding ground still bearing the scars of a hard-fought battle—scorch marks and upturned soil—miraculously, the shed remained untouched. Jogging towards the shed, he drew his wand and tapped the door with his wand.

_“Alohomora.”_

There was an audible _click_ and the door swung open, revealing a large pile of old, battered broomsticks. Harry sifted through the pile and pulled out what looked like the newest broomstick from the pile—a Cleansweep Eleven. Slinging the broomstick over his shoulder, Harry made his way inside the stadium, taking care as he climbed over broken beams and rubble until he was on the edge of the pitch. After two years of neglect, the grass had grown past Harry’s knees, but an unkempt pitch was the least of the stadium’s problems: a large portion of the stands had collapsed and four of the six goalposts had fallen over and were hidden beneath the tall grass. Harry looked around the once glorious stadium which was now in ruins, fondly remembering the cheers from the crowd and boos from the Slytherins, the cries and shouts, the roar of Luna’s lion hat. Some of his happiest times at Hogwarts had been spent on this pitch. What he wouldn’t give to play here one more time, to hear the crowd cheer and chant his name…

Harry sat Asha on one of the undamaged stands, promising he wouldn’t be long before he mounted the broomstick and immediately kicked off the ground, soaring higher and higher into the air and letting out a whoop of joy as he did so. Harry immediately felt as though an incredible weight had been lifted off of his shoulders; the higher he climbed, his spirits soared in tandem. He darted and barrel-rolled around the stadium a few times, feeling the most relaxed since he had arrived at Hogwarts. 

“HARRY POTTER!”

Harry screamed in surprise and almost slipped off his broomstick as Myrtle’s spectral figure suddenly appeared in front of him. He tried to veer left to dodge her but he was too late and as he flew through her incorporeal body, he felt as though someone had tossed a bucket of ice-cold water over him.

“Myrtle!” he gasped, circling her in mid-air. “What are you doing here?”

“Sorry to frighten you, Harry. I did shout your name a couple of times but you didn’t hear me,” she simpered. “Did you almost fall off your broomstick?”

“Yeah, I did!” he said irritably. “You need to be more careful, Myrtle. If I’d fallen off at this height, I would have died.”

“Really?” she said mildly. “That would be a shame.”

Myrtle, however, didn’t sound as though she thought that would be a shame at all. 

“What do you want?” Harry asked. 

“What do I want?” She gave a careless shrug. “Nothing. I didn’t come here to see you.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“Spending time with Draco,” she said as casually as possible before adding, “He’s my friend, you know…”

Harry frowned. “Draco? Where is he—”

Harry’s speech stalled as he felt something tug the back of his broomstick. Looking over his shoulder, he found Draco with a mischievous grin on his face, pulling his broom tail. 

“Morning, Potter,” he smiled. “Your reflexes are a little rusty. I managed to sneak up on you without you noticing.”

“What are _you_ doing here?” asked Harry, turning his broom to face Draco. 

“Same thing as you, I imagine,” he shrugged. “I couldn’t pass up the chance to fly in peace—for the most part, anyway. Though I must admit, I’m surprised to see you here; I thought that you were going to Hagrid’s.”

Harry explained what had happened to Hermione when she had tried to eat one of Hagrid’s infamous rock cakes and showed Draco the offending item in question, having pocketed his own “for later” rather than attempt to eat it as Hermione had. Draco took the cake and inspected it closely.

“She tried to eat _that?”_ he said disdainfully. “You could knock someone out with that thing.” 

Harry laughed. “Yeah, Hagrid’s got many talents but cooking isn’t one of them.”

Draco suggested that if it wasn’t edible then it would make a decent substitute for a ball, so they tossed the rock cake between them a few times while Myrtle watched and shouted pointers to them. When they got bored of doing that, they began to race each other around the stadium, nudging their brooms together and pulling at each other’s broom tails as they tried to overtake the other. Then, without warning, Draco pulled upwards and shot straight up into the sky, Harry following close behind. Together they looped and rolled through the air before sharply plummeting towards the ground again, each lap faster and more reckless than the last. Draco won most of the time, which came as no surprise—Harry’s old broomstick was no match against a Nimbus 2001. Not wanting his losing streak to continue, Harry feigned tiredness and said that he needed to catch his breath. Landing hard on the ground, he sat next to Myrtle on one of the benches while Draco proceeded to show off an array of aerial stunts.

“How have you been getting on, Myrtle?” he asked, his eyes fixed on Draco as he performed loop-the-loops above their heads.

“You would know if you ever bothered to come to visit me,” she replied coolly. Harry cast her an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been to see you recently,” he said as sincerely as possible. “I’ve been quite busy…”

“Saving the world, I know,” she sighed. “Well since you asked, I’ve been doing quite well. I’ve recently taken up residence in a new toilet.”

“Oh, well that’s good, isn’t it?” said Harry.

“Someone scribbled horrible graffiti all over my other one.”

“Oh, right.”

“I suppose it is nicer than my last toilet,” she mused. “But it’s just not the same. It’s not the one I _died_ in, so it doesn’t have the same kind of sentimental value, you know?”

“Uh...sure.”

Harry watched with interest as Draco wrapped his legs tightly around the broomstick and flipped upside down, the tips of his blonde locks skimming across the grass as he zoomed past. 

“So, Draco tells me that you’re going to do a play,” Myrtle offered conversationally. 

“Hmm?” said Harry distractedly, watching Draco with mild panic as he plummeted towards the ground before pulling up at the last moment in a flawless demonstration of the Wronksi Feint manoeuvre. Myrtle tutted in annoyance at how distracted Harry was. 

“The play,” she repeated a little louder, trying to get Harry’s attention. _“Romeo and Juliet_?”

Harry tore his eyes away from Draco to look at Myrtle. “Oh. Yeah, we had auditions on Friday.”

“Yes, Draco told me all about how you helped him,” she said, giving Harry an approving smile. “It’s a shame that you’re not doing _Hamlet_ instead. I could have played the ghost of Hamlet’s father.”

“You’ve heard of Shakespeare?” he asked curiously and Myrtle drew him a withering look.

“Of course I’ve heard of Shakespeare, I’m not a philistine!” she replied hotly.

“Sorry, I just got the impression that most magical folk had never heard of him.”

“Most Pure-bloods haven’t,” she corrected him. “But I’m Muggle-Born— _was_ Muggle-Born, I should say—so I read some of his plays in primary school.” At the surprised expression on Harry’s face, Myrtle’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you look so shocked? Don’t think I’m clever enough to know who Shakespeare is, do you?”

“Of course not! It’s just that...” he glanced up to make sure that Draco was out of earshot before asking in a low voice, “Does Malfoy know that you’re—sorry, _were_ —Muggle-Born?”

“Of course he does!” she said crossly. “Why would that be a problem?”

Harry didn’t know how to answer. The Draco Malfoy he’d known wouldn’t even want to breathe the same air as a Muggle-Born, let alone befriend one. Harry realised that probably wasn’t the aptest comparison considering it had been several decades since Myrtle had last drawn breath, but the fact remained that the boy he’d known would never have called someone like Myrtle a friend. Then again, the Draco Malfoy he’d come to know in recent days had done several things that the old Draco never would have—offering to help Harry with Occlumency, for one. If anyone had said to Harry that in the past week he would be reciting lines from a Muggle play with Draco or willingly spending free time in each other’s company, flying around on broomsticks and having a rare old time, he’d have said they must have been struck in the head with a particularly powerful Confundus Charm. Yet here he was, watching Draco zig-zag overhead and actually enjoying his company. 

Harry wondered what had been the catalyst that had precipitated this change in Draco’s behaviour. Was it that night on the Astronomy Tower that had sparked this gradual change? When given an impossible decision—to kill or be killed—despite his fear he had chosen to lower his wand rather than become a killer. Perhaps the turning point had been that moment in Malfoy Manor when Draco couldn’t bring himself to say Harry’s name and condemn him to die. Or perhaps it had been when a Muggle-Born ghost had happened across Draco one day—when he had been at his lowest and had been completely alone—and offered to be his friend. He supposed any number of things could have been the trigger, but whatever the cause, the changes—subtle as they were—were irrefutable. 

Harry watched with quiet awe as Draco performed a head-spinning corkscrew manoeuvre through the air before landing gracefully in front of him, looking extremely impressed with himself. 

“You look impressed by my flying skills,” he smirked. Harry snorted.

“Hardly. I could do the Wollongong Shimmy with my eyes closed.”

Draco laughed and flopped onto the bench next to Harry. “I’d like to see you try!”

Myrtle cleared her throat to get their attention and floated in front of them. “As much as I’ve enjoyed your company, it’s not much fun watching you boys ride your broomsticks when I can’t join in. I think I’ll just head back to the castle.” 

“Are you sure?” asked Draco. “We can always do something else.”

“No, you boys enjoy yourselves,” she insisted, giving Draco a knowing smile before waving them off and floating away in the direction of the castle. Draco stretched out his legs and put his hands behind his head, enjoying the afternoon sunshine. 

“Wasn’t I supposed to teach you Occlumency today?” he asked conversationally. Harry waved his hand dismissively.

“We can worry about that another time. It’s too nice a day for something so taxing on the brain.”

Draco chuckled. “For once in my life, I agree with you.”

Harry sighed and he cast a sorrowful look across the stadium. “I hate seeing the place in this state.”

Draco nodded in agreement. “Me too. I couldn’t believe it when McGonagall said there was no Quidditch this year. It was about the only thing I was looking forward to coming back here.”

“Same here. It would be great to hear the crowd cheer for us again one last time.”

Draco snorted. “Cheering for you, maybe. I grew accustomed to the booing over the years.”

“It didn’t help that you were a team of dirty players,” Harry pointed out. At least Draco had the good grace not to deny it. He gave a careless shrug. 

“What can I say? We’re a competitive bunch. And let’s be honest, we were never going to be loved by the crowd, not against Gryffindor—not against you. Playing fair never got us anywhere, so we played dirty.”

“And still lost,” Harry reminded him. 

“Always so gracious in victory, Potter,” he sighed. 

His smile immediately fell when he heard a loud squeak and he sat bolt upright as Asha scarpered along the bench and onto Harry’s lap. 

“What’s that thing doing here?” he grumbled. Harry rolled his eyes and scooped Asha up into his hands. 

“She has a name, you know,” he said evenly. Harry held his hands out to Draco and he visibly recoiled. “I suppose you two never got properly introduced: Malfoy, this is Asha. Asha, meet Malfoy.”

Asha cocked her head and wagged her tail at him but Draco kept his distance, glaring at the little ferret with an expression of extreme dislike.  

“I still don’t trust those teeth of hers.”

“Oh, for the love of Merlin—Malfoy, I promise that she won’t bite you,” said Harry firmly. Sitting Asha back onto his lap, he rummaged through his jeans pocket and pulled out a fistful of tiny biscuits. Draco’s eyes widened as Harry grabbed his hand and tipped some into his palm. “Here, give her these.”

Draco scrunched his nose at the offering. “What are these?”

“They’re just some treats,” Harry explained. “Hermione gives them to Crookshanks all the time, but Asha really likes them too. Just hold your palm out to her and she’ll take a couple from you.”

Draco hesitated. “But what if she bites?”

“She won’t bite you,” said Harry gently. “I promise. Go on, give it a go.”

Harry watched as, reluctantly, Draco held out his hand to Asha. The ferret approached him cautiously, standing on her hind legs to sniff his hand. Draco flinched a little as Asha reached out to balance her front paws on his outstretched hand and delicately took one of the biscuits between her sharp teeth before withdrawing, nibbling on the small treat. Draco let out a sigh of relief and smiled at Harry.

“That was easy,” he laughed.

“Told you that you’d be fine,” said Harry encouragingly. “You want to try petting her?”

Draco didn’t look too certain about that either, but after Asha took a couple more treats from him, he tentatively reached out and patted her on top of her head.

“She’s very smooth,” he noted, lightly stroking her snow white fur. 

“You can hold her if you want,” Harry offered, but Draco declined.

“No, I think this is enough physical interaction for today,” he replied firmly, withdrawing his hand.

“Suit yourself.” Harry shrugged. Scooping Asha up into his hands he addressed the ferret. “Can you make your way back up to Gryffindor Tower or do you need me to come with you?”

Asha squeaked in the affirmative and they watched her hop out of Harry’s hands into the tall grass and disappear from view, the grass rustling slightly as she made her way back towards the castle.

“Will she be able to make it back on her own?” asked Draco.

“She’ll be fine,” Harry assured. “She reminds me of Neville’s toad; he likes to go out exploring on his own, too. Fancy going for another fly about the stadium?” 

“Sure,” Draco glanced at the old Cleansweep Harry had laying beside him. “Tell me something—why are you flying that old thing? It’s hardly fit to sweep the Manor, let alone fly.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat before admitting, “I lost my Firebolt a while back.”

Draco looked appalled. “You _lost_ it? How the hell do you lose a Firebolt?” 

“It’s a long story,” he replied evasively. “I’ve ordered a new one but it’s not arrived yet.”

Draco hesitated a moment before holding out his prized Nimbus 2001. “You can have a go on mine if you like.”

Harry looked between the broomstick and Draco. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” he replied irritably, brandishing the broom. “Have a go before I change my mind.”

Harry’s face broke out into a wide grin and he snatched the broomstick from Draco’s outstretched hand. He mounted it, ready to take flight, but just as he was about to kick off the ground, he paused. Turning to Draco, he tentatively offered his hand. 

“You want to come with me?”

Draco frowned slightly. “Are you serious?”

Harry nodded. Draco scoffed and crossed his arms. “After the last time we flew together? Not bloody likely.” 

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” Harry implored, lowering his hand. Draco, however, still looked uncertain. “I promise to go slower this time if that’ll make it less scary for you.”

“I’m not scared!” said Draco hotly. Harry couldn’t help but laugh at the indignant expression on his face. 

“Oh really? Prove it,” he challenged. As Harry had predicted, Draco took the bait, hook, line and sinker. He looked determinedly at Harry and got to his feet.

“Budge up a bit,” he demanded and Harry obliged, giving Draco room to sit behind him. He tried to ignore the fluttering sensation growing in his stomach as Draco’s hands slipped around his waist and linked together in front of him. 

“Ready?” he asked. Draco gave a curt nod. 

“Ready.”

“Okay, hold tight,” he instructed. “If you scream, I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

Draco tutted, “Oh please, I’m not going to—WAAAAAAAH!”

Draco screamed as Harry kicked hard off of the ground and, in a flash, they were climbing twenty, thirty, forty feet into the air. Pressing his face against Harry’s shoulder, he shouted a flurry of angry expletives at Harry for not warning him before takeoff, but his voice was drowned out by the surge of wind rushing past as they continued to climb higher into the sky. 

“Are you holding on tight?” Harry called. “I’m going to try the Wollongong Shimmy manoeuvre with my eyes closed.”

_“Don’t you dare!”_

“I’m joking!” he laughed. “Let me know if I’m going too fast for you.”

“Not a chance!” Draco cried and Harry could feel him smiling against his shoulder. 

His heart pounded with excitement as they soared out of the stadium and towards the Black Lake. Draco’s grip around his waist tightened as he took a sharp dip towards the ground, flying lower and lower until their feet were skimming inches above the inky black water. Shimmering diamonds of sunlight danced across its surface as they flew over it at top speed. Gradually, Draco’s grip slackened and he lifted his head off of Harry’s shoulder as they circled the lake. 

“Enjoying yourself yet?” Harry called, turning his head to the side. 

“Getting there!” Draco shouted back. 

Suddenly, something shot out of the water in front of them and backflipped back under the murky depths. It moved so fast that they barely caught sight of the scaly, steel-coloured tail as it slipped back under the waves.

“Merpeople!” laughed Draco and Harry gaped as a procession of them began to jump out of the water, following them as they flew across the lake. The merpeople were screeching and waving furiously at them, but whether it was in a friendly or aggressive manner, Harry didn’t wait around to find out. He took off into the air again and headed back towards the Quidditch stadium. 

“You’re a bloody show-off, you know that?” Draco chastised lightly.

“Yeah, but so are you,” Harry countered. Draco just laughed rather than argue. 

Harry finally came to a full stop so high above the ground that they could feast their eyes on a bird's eye view of Hogwarts and its many turrets and towers. They spotted Hagrid’s tent far below, little more than a white speck in the lush green grounds of the castle. Harry turned slowly on the spot until they faced the Forbidden Forest, where they could see over the tops of the ancient, gnarled trees which stretched out for miles in all directions towards the horizon. 

“That’s quite a view,” said Draco sounding mildly impressed. 

“Yeah, it’s really peaceful,” Harry agreed. “I used to do this a lot, you know. When things got too crazy in school, I’d hop on my broomstick and fly up here just so that I could be on my own for a bit. Up here, nobody can see you or judge you.”

“I wish I’d thought of that,” Draco mused. “You don’t mind me being up here with you then?”

Harry thought about that for a moment. This was the sort of thing he had always pictured doing with Ginny, but now that he was here, he was glad that he was here with Draco instead. Of course, he knew better than to say that aloud. He felt a little surprised and confused to even think it himself. 

“No,” he replied. “It’s actually nice having some company for a change.”

Draco smiled. “So you admit that you’re enjoying my company?”

“‘Enjoy’ is a strong word,” Harry joked. He glanced at his watch and sighed. “I better head back to the castle. Ron and Hermione will be wondering where I am.”

They glided towards the ground and landed gently next to the broom shed. Harry climbed off of the broomstick and handed it to Draco. 

“Well, that was surprisingly fun.” He felt a swooping feeling in his stomach as Draco pushed his windswept hair out of his face and chuckled.

“Yes, I’m sure that you’ll be rushing off to tell your friends all about how much fun you had with Draco Malfoy.”

“I don’t think anyone would believe me if I told them,” Harry half-joked, knowing full well that it was true. Draco’s smile became a little strained and he avoided Harry’s gaze. 

“Yes, because the idea of us being friends is inconceivable,” he said with a slight edge to his voice. 

“I thought that we weren’t friends?” Harry countered lightly. 

“We’re not,” Draco shot back before adding, “Not yet, anyway.”

“Well, whatever we are now is still a vast improvement on what it was before.”

Draco looked up at Harry then and gave him a small smile. “And for the second time in my life, I have to agree with you.”

They stood in silence smiling at each other for a moment before Draco cleared his throat and mounted his broomstick. “Well, I think I’m going to fly about for a bit longer. I’ll see you later, Potter.”

“Oh. Okay,” Harry took a half-step back but he was strangely reluctant to leave. “See you later, then.”

He watched as Draco kicked off the ground and soared high into the air until he was a small black speck in the sea of blue sky before he started to walk slowly back towards the castle. It had been another unusual, yet pleasant day for Harry and it occurred to him that these seemed to be happening with alarming regularity, particularly when he was in Draco’s company. It was strange even admitting that to himself, let alone his best friends. 

When Harry climbed through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room, he saw Ron and Hermione sitting in the far corner with their heads together and whispering to one another. 

“What’s going on?” asked Harry, announcing himself. Ron and Hermione looked up sharply at him in surprise.

“There you are!” Hermione exclaimed, looking relieved. “We were beginning to wonder where you’d gotten to.”

“Hermione was ready to send out a search party for you,” Ron joked. 

“No, I wasn’t!” she protested hotly. 

“I just borrowed one of the school broomsticks and flew about the castle for a bit,” Harry explained, flopping into the squishy armchair next to Ron. He felt a little guilty about not mentioning Draco but he wanted to avoid any arguments with his friends. He figured what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. Ron looked crestfallen at this admission. 

“You went flying without me?” he sulked.

“Sorry mate, it was a spur of the moment decision. We can head out for a bit now if you like?”

“We can’t,” said Hermione. “We’ve got too much homework to do.”

“But what about food?” Ron protested. “We’ve already missed lunch and you know that I can’t work on an empty stomach.”

“Well, you’re in luck,” she said brightly, brandishing her small beaded purse. “I took the liberty of making us packed lunches this morning so that we could work throughout the day without needing to waste all of that time in the Great Hall!”

“Oh, brilliant,” said Ron sarcastically as Hermione proceeded to pull out several books, sandwiches and a flask of pumpkin juice from the tiny bag, setting up a workstation on the desk in front of them. While Ron wasn’t entirely happy about the prospect of spending another sunny Sunday afternoon indoors, he was somewhat appeased when Hermione presented him with a large chicken tikka sandwich. 

“Did I tell you that I love you?” he simpered before biting into his sandwich.

“Not nearly often enough,” she quipped, smiling at him.

“How’s your teeth?” asked Harry. Hermione, who had just been about to take a bite out of her own sandwich, paused. 

“Much better, thank you.” She flashed him a quick smile to demonstrate before sinking her teeth into an egg mayo sandwich. “That’s the last time I’m accepting one of those awful rock cakes from Hagrid,” she mumbled. “I’d rather take my chances with his treacle fudge than risk breaking another tooth.”

Armed with a tuna sandwich in one hand, Harry grudgingly pulled his Herbology textbook towards him with the other, wondering why he had been in such a rush to get back here. He found himself staring longingly out of the window, wishing that he’d stayed outside a little longer, when he spotted a small figure on a broomstick hovering above the pitch. Harry felt that familiar fluttering sensation growing in the pit of his stomach as he watched Draco fly through the sky with the ease and grace of a bird. Tearing his eyes away, he turned back to his homework, his head firmly in the clouds with Draco. 


	15. Chapter 15

When people asked Harry why he had decided to return to Hogwarts, he didn’t have one definitive answer. There were a lot of good reasons for him to come back; he needed the qualifications, for one thing. It was also his last chance to spend time with his friends before they had to go out into the world and find proper jobs. Then there was the food (Merlin, he’d missed the feasts), the Quidditch (Harry still felt a little put out that there would be no league this year), and the opportunity to go on nightly expeditions and explore the castle with his trusted Marauder’s Map. It was the first place that Harry had ever considered home and Harry wanted to wish it one final, fond farewell before he left the last remnants of his childhood behind him and set out into the world on his own.

One thing that he had not missed, however, was dragging himself out of bed for early morning lessons. Harry had always been more of a night owl, and after spending a long summer with no fixed time to get out of bed, having to get up at the crack of dawn for classes was a bit of a shock to the system. The early morning sunlight poured through the boys’ dormitory window, slowly crawling up Harry’s bed until it reached his face. Still half-asleep, Harry buried his face into his pillow to shield his eyes from the sunlight. He was annoyed at being woken up so early, especially since he’d just been having the most wonderful dream. He couldn’t remember the particulars of it, but it had involved flying atop paper aeroplanes with a particular blonde-haired sort-of friend of his that would remain unnamed.

Harry snuggled into his pillow and tried to focus on the dream, hoping that if he fell back asleep his dreams would take him soaring above the clouds again, but just as he was dozing off, he jerked awake at the sound of muffled giggles that sounded like they were coming from Ron’s bed. Harry turned, bleary-eyed and half-blind without his glasses, towards Ron’s bed and found that, unusually for him, the curtains around his four-poster were drawn. Harry groaned and after fumbling blindly for his wand, pointed it at Ron’s bed and whispered a Silencing Charm. It was bad enough walking in on his best friends mid-coitus a couple of times at The Burrow, the last thing that he needed was to hear them engaging in their carnal desires when he was trying to sleep.

Turning his back on Ron’s bed, Harry was surprised to face Seamus, who was attempting to tip-toe from Dean’s bed back to his own. Seamus froze mid-step when he noticed Harry watching him, a look of mild panic written across his face. It took Harry’s sleep-addled brain a few seconds to realise what Seamus had been up to and a tense silence followed as Seamus waited to see what Harry’s reaction would be. Harry sat his wand on top of the bedside table and turned away without saying a word. A moment later, he heard the creak of Seamus’s mattress and although Harry kept his eyes shut, he was too awake to fall back to sleep now.

So, Seamus and Dean were an item. Once the momentary shock of this discovery subsided, Harry supposed that it wasn’t that surprising. They had always been close friends and being separated during the war must have been difficult for them. He wondered if they would tell anyone but quickly told himself that it was none of his business. It seemed like everyone had someone: Ron and Hermione, Neville and Luna, and now, Seamus and Dean. Everyone except Harry, who was doomed to be eternally alone, it seemed. Perhaps it was for the best, he thought miserably. However lonely it got, things were definitely less complicated this way. At least he didn’t have to worry about disappointing anyone if there was nobody to disappoint.

Harry pretended to be asleep when Hermione snuck out of the dormitory a little while later, but as soon as the door closed he tossed one of his pillows at Ron’s bed.

“Oi!” A mess of red hair popped out of the curtains and he glared at Harry. “What was that for?”

“Next time you sneak Hermione in here, use a Silencing Charm,” he grumbled, clambering out of bed and stalking towards the bathroom. Rather than have the good grace to look bashful, Ron grinned broadly.

“Sorry about that, mate,” he said cheerfully. “I’ll try and remember next time!”

Harry was tired and irritable when he shuffled into Professor Jones’s class—the first of the day—relieved that it wasn’t an Occlumency lesson but not particularly looking forward to what they were about to learn, either.

“Wandless magic,” Hestia scribbled the words onto the blackboard and underlined them, “will be the focus of today’s lesson. Can anyone tell me some of the pros and cons of using wandless magic?”

She turned around to face her unenthusiastic class to find, predictably, only one hand raised high into the air. Hermione was practically on the edge of her seat and gave her hand a slight wave in case Hestia hadn’t seen her.

“Yes, Miss Granger?” she sighed.

Hermione lowered her hand. “One of the main benefits of wandless magic is that if you don’t have access to a wand, you can still perform certain spells, such as Apparition, Levitation and Summoning spells. So, I suppose if you were in a bit of bother, you could try summoning a wand or Apparate to somewhere safe.”

Hestia nodded approving. “Very good. Any shortcomings?”

“Well, as with nonverbal spells, the potency of some spells may be less effective than if you used a wand to channel your magic,” Hermione added.

“Correct,” said Hestia briskly. “Thank you, Miss Granger, I’m glad that someone is awake enough to engage in the lesson. Now, everyone here is capable of performing magic without the use of a wand. Most of you have probably done it at some point in your lives; it’s common for children to perform wandless magic, usually unintentionally when they are feeling upset or in danger.”

Harry thought back to one of the last times he had lost control of his magic, when he had blown up his Aunt Marge like a balloon and she had bounced across the ceiling of Privet Drive. Far from feeling guilty about it, Harry thought it couldn’t have happened to a nicer person.

“Only the most disciplined witches and wizards are capable of performing advanced wandless magic reliably,” Hestia continued. “Transfiguration and Charms are particularly difficult to perform without a wand. But today we’re going to focus on something simple.”

She handed each of the students a feather. “All I want you to do is levitate your feather off of the desk. It will require a good deal of practice, concentration and mental discipline to achieve this, so I don’t expect any of you to be able to do this on the first try. But by the end of the lesson, I’m confident most of you will succeed.”

Harry glanced over at Draco who smirked at him. Of course, this was going to be no trouble at all for him. While everyone else screwed their faces up in concentration, struggling to make their feathers move, Draco easily levitated his off of the table and across the room to Hestia. Smiling, she snatched the feather out of mid-air and strode over to his desk.

“Very impressive, Mr Malfoy,” she said, handing him back his feather. “Clearly, you’ve done this before.”

Draco gave a careless shrug. “Once or twice.”

“So tell me, what’s the heaviest thing that you can lift without using your wand?”

“I can show you, if you like?” he offered.

“By all means, I’d enjoy a practical demonstration,” said Hestia interestedly.

Draco screwed his face up in concentration. A moment later, Harry felt his chair shudder violently and he had to grip the edges to stop himself from falling off. Everyone watched open-mouthed with shock as Harry and his chair rose a few inches into the air before crashing back to the ground with a loud bang. Hestia barked out a laugh of delight.

“Very good, Mr Malfoy!” Hestia clapped Draco on the back. “Very good indeed. Well, since you’ve already mastered the basics, would you care to give the other students a few pointers?”

“Certainly,” he preened. “Looks like Potter could do with all the help that he can get.”

Draco sauntered across the classroom to sit next to Harry, looking incredibly impressed with himself. Harry scowled at him.

“Now who’s the show-off?” he muttered under his breath as Draco sat beside him.

“Would you like some remedial Defence lessons as well?” he simpered. “I’m going to have to charge you a fee for all the help I’m giving you.”

“I can manage this just fine on my own,” Harry grumbled. He glared at the feather on his desk with the utmost concentration, but try as he might, he couldn’t make it move. Draco watched Harry with growing amusement.

“Would you like some help now?” he offered. Harry groaned and slumped back in his chair, defeated.

“Well, genius, what do you suggest?” he asked huffily.

“Do you have a quill?” asked Draco. Harry thought this was a strange request but thought better than to argue with him. Sifting through his school bag, he pulled out fistfuls of stationery, parchment and crumbled biscuits, dumping everything on the desk as he rummaged around the bottom of the bag for his quill. Draco scrunched up his nose in disgust at the assortment of knick-knacks.

“Do you ever clean out your bag or is carrying loads of rubbish just par for the course for you?”

Harry shrugged. “Not really. I didn’t need my school bag last year, so I haven’t looked in it since the end of sixth year. I must have a quill in here somewhere…”

Harry’s voice trailed as he continued his search and Draco tutted impatiently. Distracted by something of interest on the desk, he picked up a biro with his thumb and forefinger and inspected it closely.

“What’s this?” he asked curiously.

Harry glanced up. “It’s a pen.”

“A what?”

“A ballpoint pen,” he explained, finally pulling a battered quill from his bag. “It’s like a Muggle quill. Here…”

Snatching the pen out of Draco’s hand, Harry drew a smiley face onto a piece of parchment to demonstrate. Draco looked mildly impressed by this.

“Huh…I suppose not everything Muggles come up with is completely useless,” he conceded.

“Say that a little louder so that the entire class can hear you,” Harry teased. “Nobody will believe me otherwise: Draco Malfoy, complimenting Muggles.”

“I did nothing of the sort, your ears must have been deceiving you,” said Draco lightly.

Plucking the pen back out of Harry’s hand he began adding extra details to Harry’s drawing: round glasses, messy black hair and a lightning bolt scar. Harry smiled at Draco.

“The resemblance is uncanny.”

A devilish grin spread across Draco’s face as he added a speech bubble beside Harry’s head and wrote in elegant sloped handwriting, _I stink._ Harry’s smile fell.

“Hilarious,” he said flatly.

Draco pouted. “Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.”

Harry picked up another pen and began to doodle a picture of Draco: he drew a pointed nose, narrow eyes and an exaggerated smirk before adding his own speech bubble which read, _I’m a pompous git._

Draco snorted. “A crude depiction, but at least you managed to spell pompous correctly.”

“Piss off,” Harry laughed, but he quickly dropped his smile as he heard someone clear their throat behind him. Harry and Draco turned to find Hestia looming over them with her arms crossed.

“Working hard, I see?” she said accusingly.

“Sorry, Professor,” said Harry, covering the drawings with another piece of parchment.

“Leave the drawing for the Art Club, lads, and try to concentrate on the task at hand,” she suggested before wandering away to help another student. Draco and Harry smirked at each other before Draco held out one of the pens to Harry.

“Here, this’ll work better than a quill,” he said. Harry took the proffered pen and stared at it.

“How is this going to help me perform wandless magic?”

“Well, not a lot of people know this but wizards didn’t always use wands,” Draco explained. “They were invented by European wizards centuries ago, but before that, every magical person used wandless magic. So it’s like Professor Jones said, everyone here is capable of doing wandless magic, it just takes a lot of effort to control it because we’ve become so dependent on wands to harness our magic.”

“How do you know all of this?” asked Harry.

“Because I read a lot of books, Potter,” he drawled. “The Manor has quite an extensive library, better than the one at this school, in my opinion.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I still don’t understand how a pen is supposed to help me.”

“Because a lot of spellcasting is psychological,” said Draco. “For example, if you cast an Unforgivable Curse, its effectiveness is determined by the user’s intent. Much like the potency of a Patronus Charm, it is only as strong as the happy memory you conjure. Tell me, when your wand broke, how did you feel?”

Harry thought about it for a moment. “Like a part of me was broken.”

Draco nodded. “And when you took my wand, I felt like a part of me was missing. I wasn’t able to get a replacement, so I had to master the basics of wandless magic, but it was difficult because I’d grown so accustomed to channelling my magic through my wand. So…” Draco picked up Harry’s quill. “I had to improvise. I imagined that a quill was my wand and that I was channelling my magic through that. Once I learned to do that, I discarded the quill and now I can do wandless magic with my eyes closed.”

Harry was impressed. “That’s actually pretty clever.”

“I know,” Draco agreed unabashedly. “Try casting the Levitation Charm while holding your pen; it resembles a wand more than a quill does. Just imagine that you’re channelling your magic through your arm and into it like you would a wand. Imagine that an invisible hand is lifting the feather into the air.”

Harry felt a little silly pointing his pen at the feather, but everyone else in the class was too busy concentrating on their own feathers to pay him any attention, so he did as Draco instructed and imagined that he had his real wand in his hand. He tried to imagine the feeling of his magic pulsing through him like a heartbeat, slow and steady like his breaths, travelling down his arm and into the tip of his wand.

“Repeat the incantation,” Draco reminded him quietly.

 _“Wingardium Leviosa.”_ Harry let out a small gasp as the feather twitched. “Yes! It worked!”

“You only moved it an inch,” Draco pointed out. “Try lifting it into the air.”

Harry unconsciously clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes in concentration, focussing with every fibre of his being on lifting the feather into the air. He imagined a spectral hand extending out from the tip of his faux wand, scooping the feather up and raising it into the air and, miraculously, the feather began to rise…

“Nicely done,” said Draco. “Now, the next step is to— _pfft!”_

Draco’s words were cut short as Harry deliberately directed his feather up Draco’s nose. Harry laughed as Draco spluttered and batted the feather away, looking miffed.

“Think you’re funny, do you?” he grumbled.

“I know I am,” Harry smirked. “That’s what you get for trying to tip me out of my chair.”

“I wasn’t trying to tip you out of your chair,” Draco protested, swiping at the feather as Harry made it dance around his head before managing to tuck it behind his ear. “I’m going to live to regret teaching you that, aren’t I?”

Harry chuckled, “Yup.”

“Good work, Mr Potter!” said Hestia approvingly. “Very good work, indeed. Mr Malfoy, would you mind coming over here and giving Miss Weasley a hand?”

Ginny didn’t look particularly pleased to be receiving help from Draco but she kept her mouth shut. Draco seemed equally reluctant to leave but he gave a careless shrug.

“Somehow I don’t think Weaslette is going to be as willing as you to take my advice,” he whispered to Harry before rising to his feet. By the mutinous expression on Ginny’s face, Harry was inclined to agree.

Harry spent the rest of the lesson practising wandless levitation on his own using the various objects from his school bag. While he was still a long way away from being able to do it non-verbally, he had progressed further than a lot of the other students. Hermione, of course, had mastered it in no time, as had Theo and Luna. It took Neville til near the end of the lesson before he managed to make his feather float and, predictably, Seamus only succeeded in making his explode.

“My feather definitely moved,” Ron argued as they filed out of the classroom at the end of the lesson. “Didn’t you see? I managed to push it off of the desk!”

“That was a gust of wind,” Hermione argued. “Next time try sitting away from an open window.”

Ron scowled and turned his attention to Harry, lightly jabbing him on the arm. “Since when have you and Malfoy been pals?”

Harry felt the back of his neck prickle with heat but he asked as casually as possible, “What do you mean?”

“I saw you two laughing and chatting away like old buddies,” he said accusingly. “Did he hit you with a Confundus Charm or something?”

Harry avoided Ron’s inquiring gaze and shrugged. “It was nothing, we just exchanged our usual pleasantries—he said that I was an idiot and I called him a pompous git.”

“Very mature of both of you,” said Hermione in a disapproving tone. Ron didn’t look entirely convinced by this explanation but dropped his interrogation as they reached the Muggle Studies classroom.

Harry had completely forgotten about the auditions and the play. He was only reminded when he entered Liv’s classroom and saw the large stack of scripts sitting on her desk. Taking his usual seat at the back of the class, Harry’s mind wandered, more interested in what he was going to have for lunch than trying to guess who would be cast in which roles. When everyone had taken their seats, Liv cleared her throat and smiled at them.

“Good morning, everyone!” she greeted them brightly. “Did you have a nice weekend?”

The students mumbled unenthusiastically in response but that did nothing to dampen Liv’s spirits. She waved a piece of parchment in the air.

“Well, I’ve spent all weekend selecting the cast for our production of _Romeo and Juliet,_ so before we begin the lesson I’ll put you all out of your misery and announce who will be playing each role,” she continued. “First, I’m pleased to announce that the role of Juliet’s Nurse goes to...Luna Lovegood.”

Luna grinned as Liv handed over a script with all of her new lines to learn for the play. “Well done, Miss Lovegood. Next, the role of Balthasar goes to...Neville Longbottom. Congratulations.”

Neville looked surprised but not displeased at the appointment. He gave Liv a sheepish smile as she handed him his script and he began to flick through it as Liv continued to announce the other roles: Hermione would play Escalus, the Prince of Verona, Blaise would be Paris, a young nobleman who wanted to marry Juliet, and Seamus would play Friar Lawrence, the Franciscan monk who would wed the doomed lovers. Mercutio and Tybalt would be played by Ron and Theo respectively, while Millicent Bulstrode and Zacharias Smith would play Ladies Capulet and Montague.

“Why do I have to play Lady Capulet?” Zacharias whinged. “I’m a bloke, shouldn’t I play Lord Capulet instead?”

“Michael Corner and Dean Thomas will be playing the roles of Lords Capulet and Montague,” Liv explained. “It’s worth mentioning that in Shakespeare’s day, female parts were played by male actors. Of course, anyone who’s familiar with _Twelfth Night_ will know that gender roles are something that Shakespeare explored more in-depth but we can look at that in more detail another day. I thought for our production, it would be interesting to subvert tradition and have women in traditionally male roles and vice versa.”

Zacharias, however, didn’t look as though he thought that this would be interesting at all. “But—”

“Our next role,” Liv continued, putting an end to the discussion. “Benvolio, nephew to Lord Montague and friend to Romeo will be played by...Ginny Weasley.”

Ginny raised her eyebrows in surprise and Ron groaned.

“Tough luck, mate,” he whispered in Harry’s ear. “I thought she was a shoo-in for Juliet. Ah well, guess it doesn’t matter if you get cast as Romeo anymore.”

Harry tried to look disappointed but privately sighed a breath of relief that Ron’s plan, which was pretty far-fetched in the first place, had fallen through. He couldn’t imagine anything more awkward than being cast alongside his ex-girlfriend in a romantic tragedy.

“And now to announce who will be playing our star-crossed lovers,” said Liv, struggling to hide the excitement in her voice. “The role of Romeo will be played by... Harry Potter.”

“Oh, what a surprise,” said Draco loudly.

Harry’s brain seemed to have stalled. Surely, he had misheard her. He watched as though detached from his own body as Liv slipped the new script into his outstretched hand, wished him congratulations and walked to the front of the class again. He stared at his script, genuinely shocked that Liv had picked him for the role, even if Draco wasn’t. Not that he thought that he’d performed badly during his audition, but there were others who seemed more keen to be in the play than he was. For instance, Seamus patted a disappointed-looking Dean on the shoulder and Zacharias looked as though he wanted to throw his script at Harry’s head. Before he could voice his confusion, Liv was speaking again.

“And finally, the role of Juliet will be played by…” she paused for dramatic effect. “Draco Malfoy. Congratulations!”

“Oh _bugger,”_ Ron hissed.

All eyes turned to Draco in shock, who barked out a laugh in response to the announcement. Then realising that Liv was serious, he frowned. “You are joking, aren’t you?”

“What’s the difference between ignorance and apathy?” asked Liv. “I don’t know and I don’t care.” Draco stared blankly back at her and she rolled her eyes. _“That_ was a joke, Mr Malfoy—evidently, not a very funny one—but I’m quite serious about you playing our leading lady. If anyone has any questions about their roles, please wait until the end of the lesson to ask them. And a reminder to anyone who didn’t get a role, please don’t worry! There are plenty of other jobs available and we’ll start assigning them in the next few classes...”

Liv set the script in front of Draco and walked back to the front of the class to begin the lesson, pointedly ignoring Draco, who stared daggers at her. Harry thought that Draco might storm out of the classroom in a fit of temper, but he sat for the duration of the lesson with his arms crossed, glaring at the script with the utmost contempt.

Harry wasn’t able to concentrate during the lesson, either. He couldn’t help but wonder why he always seemed to find himself in these awkward situations. The prospect of acting in front of the whole school was much more daunting than playing Quidditch. He was a natural at flying and his quick reflexes made him an ideal Seeker. Quidditch was fun. Quidditch was easy. Acting, however, was foreign to him and he felt completely out of his depth. He experienced similar feelings of confusion and anxiety when his name had been read out of the Goblet of Fire. The upside was that at least there was a fairly low chance of being killed while performing a play. Despite his initial panic, Harry quickly rationalised the situation: so this result was unexpected, but it wasn’t the end of the world. He’d been through a lot worse than learning a few lines and wearing a ruff collar.

And he couldn’t help but feel a little rush of excitement at the prospect of spending more time with Draco, even if it was just rehearsing for the play. But given Draco’s negative reaction at being cast as Juliet, Harry suspected that he may well end up doing this play with someone else entirely.

* * *

At the end of the lesson, everyone made quick work packing up their belongings and heading to the Great Hall for lunch. Draco didn’t even bother to wait until all the students had left the class before he marched up to Liv and slammed the script onto her desk.

“Are you taking the piss?” he hissed.

“Language, Mr Malfoy,” Liv warned.

 _“Juliet?”_ he raged. “Do you think that I’m going to put on a dress and make a fool of myself in front of the entire school?”

“Everyone will be in period costume, Mr Malfoy,” she replied calmly. “Unless you have a penchant for corsets and stockings, I doubt that you would like what the men wore, either.”

“I’m trying to keep a low profile,” he argued. “You convinced me that it was worth my while sticking it out here, but now I’m beginning to suspect you had an ulterior motive all along. Was this the reason why you convinced me not to leave Hogwarts? Just so that you could humiliate me with _this?”_

Liv frowned. “It’s not my intention to humiliate you, Draco. I gave you the role of Juliet because I think that you’re the best person to play the part.” Draco made a dismissive sound and crossed his arms. Somehow, he found that hard to believe. Liv took a deep breath and continued in an even tone, “Think about this logically: do you really think that I would go to the effort of convincing you to stay on at school just so that I could embarrass you by casting you as the lead role in a play? A play that I’m investing a lot of time and resources into? It would be like cutting off my nose to spite my face, wouldn’t it?”

Draco pursed his lips and tried to think of a counterargument but drew a blank. “Well...yes, I see your point. Alright, I won’t argue that my audition was anything short of brilliant. But why does Potter get to play Romeo? I could do that role just as well—better, even.”

“Your performance during the audition was exemplary,” she enthused. “And while I think that you would do a wonderful job playing Romeo, you and Juliet share a lot of the same qualities. If you read the rest of the script, I think that you’ll find that you and she have a surprising amount in common.”

Draco scoffed. “Oh, please. I am not some prissy princess who falls in love with the first boy that I lay eyes on!”

“And neither is she,” Liv argued. “Juliet is much more than her name and her status: she’s headstrong, confident, and she defies conventional expectations forced upon her. When I say that you and Juliet have a lot in common, I mean it in a complimentary way.”

Draco stared at her in silence for a moment, unable to think up of a clever retort. Slowly, the tension in Draco’s shoulders eased a little and he mumbled, “Well, since you put it that way…”

“We talked about trying things out first before dismissing them,” Liv reminded him. “Tell you what, why don’t you attend a few rehearsals first? Practice your scenes with Luna and Harry, then come back to me again in a couple weeks’ time, and if you’re still not comfortable being in the lead role, then I won’t force you to do it.”

Draco thought about the offer for a long moment before his shoulders finally sagged in defeat. He couldn’t argue that it wasn’t a reasonable proposition.

“Fine,” he sighed. “I’ll give it a go.”

Liv smiled at him. “Excellent! I appreciate your concerns but I think once you get past your initial nerves, you’re going to enjoy this. Taking part in the play is supposed to be fun!”

“Somehow I seriously doubt that,” he muttered, snatching his script off of Liv’s desk and spinning on his heel, pausing when Liv called after him.

“Oh! Before I forget, you have detention with me this evening,” she said brightly. Draco turned and gaped at her.

 _“What?_ Why? I’ve just agreed to do your stupid play!”

“Swearing at a member of staff normally guarantees you a lot worse than one night of detention with me,” she replied coolly. “You got a free pass the last time but I can’t let your bad language slide. Be here at six o’clock sharp. That’ll be all.”

Gnashing his teeth in frustration, Draco stalked out of the classroom only to be met with Harry waiting for him in the corridor.

“I suppose you heard all of that?” he huffed.

“It was hard not to,” said Harry. “You were speaking quite loudly.”

Draco crossed his arms and glared at Harry. “Well, go on then. Take the piss. We might as well get the childish jokes out of the way.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” said Harry innocently before a mischievous grin spread across his face. “All I’ll say is that I think you’re going to make a lovely princess.”

“Oh, you’re loving this, aren’t you?” Draco sneered, stalking past Harry.

“Yeah, I kind of am,” he laughed, walking in step with Draco. “Is that true? Were you going to leave Hogwarts?”

Draco let out a heavy sigh. “I was considering it, yes.”

“Oh right...what changed your mind?” Harry chanced.

“I really don’t want to talk about it, Potter.”

“Right. Fair enough.” Harry looked sheepish as he added, “Well, for what it’s worth, I think it’s a good thing that you stayed.”

Draco looked up at Harry then, surprised. “Really?”

Harry nodded. “You know that I’ve been here over a week now and nothing crazy has happened yet? No-one’s even tried to kill me, which makes a nice change but it has been kind of boring, if I’m honest.”

Draco couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “How tragic for you.”

“The most fun I’ve had since coming back here has been talking to you,” Harry continued. “Which is such a weird thing to admit, but weird in a good way.”

Draco slowed his pace. “Well, I suppose it’s like you said before, just because something’s weird doesn’t mean that it’s bad.”

Harry gave him a warm smile. “Exactly. I think doing this play together definitely falls under the category of weird, but whether it’s good or bad...that might be worth further exploration before we decide one way or the other.”

Draco hesitated but finally, he nodded. “Yes, I agree. I think that it’s best we explore whatever this is a little more in-depth.”

Draco wasn’t sure if they were talking about the play or their friendship, but either way, he was willing to explore things further with Harry. They parted ways as they reached the Great Hall, each heading for their respective house tables. Harry sat down in the space that Ron had saved for him, while Draco took his usual seat alone at the Slytherin table. It was only then that he realised that he still had Harry’s feather tucked behind his ear. Plucking the feather from behind his ear, he twirled it between his thumb and forefinger, deep in thought.

It was still strange to Draco, why Harry was talking to him. He just couldn’t understand it. People didn’t want to be seen in his company, and he couldn’t blame them. He was Draco Malfoy, after all. Slytherin, ex-Death Eater and social pariah of the magical world. He wasn’t worthy of anyone’s time. Well, nobody except Harry, apparently.

The mistrustful voice in the back of his mind kept telling him that Harry must have some ulterior motive—why else would he want to talk to Draco? It couldn’t be because he actually liked him. However, despite his misgivings, he couldn’t help but trust that Harry’s motivations weren’t self-interested. He was too bloody noble and heroic to be planning anything nefarious towards Draco. Where that once would have made Draco balk, now he found it somewhat endearing. Draco allowed himself a small smile; stupid, annoying, funny and thoughtful Potter was too kind for his own good. Draco hoped that he’d never change. He slipped the little keepsake into his breast pocket and, for the first time since he’d arrived at Hogwarts, he felt glad to be here.


	16. Chapter 16

“I really appreciate your help with this,” said Harry. “I can paint walls well enough but I’m no Picasso.”

“Who’s Picasso?” asked Luna interestedly.

“He was a very famous Muggle artist,” he explained. “I think you would like his paintings and sculptures. I can pick up a book with some of his artwork if you’d like?”

Luna beamed at Harry. “Oh yes, I’d like that very much.”

A few days had passed since Myrtle told Harry about someone vandalising her beloved toilet. He couldn’t get the image out of his mind of Myrtle moping about her bathroom, unable to do anything about the graffiti herself, so he decided to do something about it. Aware of his own limited artistic expertise, he told Luna what he planned to do and she was more than happy to assist him. So rather than use their free evening catching up with their homework or spending time with friends, they were headed in the direction of the girl’s lavatory on the second floor armed with buckets of paint and paintbrushes.

They slowed as they approached the bathroom and Harry turned to Luna. “I should warn you that Myrtle can be a little sensitive, particularly when it comes to the subject of her being dead. It’s a good thing that we’re wearing old clothes because when she’s in one of her more irritable moods, she’s prone to splashing toilet water all over the place.”

“Right you are, Harry,” said Luna brightly. “I’ll be careful not to mention that she’s a ghost.”

“Probably for the best,” Harry agreed. He knocked on the bathroom door and stuck his head inside. “Myrtle, it’s Harry. Can I come in?”

Harry took a quick step back as Myrtle’s opaque head appeared through the door, giving her the appearance of a macabre wall mount.

“Draco’s not here if that’s who you’re looking for,” she sulked. She glanced at Luna who smiled up at her. “Who are you?”

“We’re not looking for Draco, we’re here to see you,” said Harry. “This is Luna. She’s in Ravenclaw like you were.”

Luna gave Myrtle a small wave and Myrtle’s eyes narrowed. “Is she your _girlfriend?”_

“Um, no.” Harry was a little taken aback at the accusatory tone. “We’re just friends.”

That seemed to perk Myrtle up a little bit and she smiled. “Oh. Well, then it’s nice to meet you, Luna. So, what can I do for you? Need somewhere to make dangerous potions and plan some rule-breaking?”

Harry shook his head. “Not today. We actually want to do something for you.”

When Harry told her that he and Luna wanted to paint over the graffiti covering her toilet, Myrtle squealed with delight and invited them inside.

“Please excuse the mess,” she simpered. “I don’t normally have guests.”

When Harry stepped inside the bathroom, he was horrified to see the state that it was in. Granted, it had never been what he’d consider habitable—the floor was always damp and the paint was flaking off of the walls—but now doors to the stalls were dangling off hinges, the large mirror by the sinks had been smashed and there was bright red writing spray-painted across the whole room.

“Myrtle,” said Harry carefully. “During the battle, were there people fighting in your bathroom?”

“No, this has all happened a few days ago,” said Myrtle sullenly, floating over their heads. “I was sitting inside one of the drains, minding my own business, when I heard an awful racket. I came back here to investigate and found it like this.”

“Bloody hell.” Harry picked up one of the doors that lay on the floor and propped it against the wall. He found it hard to believe that anyone would deliberately target Myrtle. She could be annoying at times but mostly she kept to herself.

“Which toilet is yours?” asked Luna.

Myrtle floated to the opposite end of the bathroom and pointed to the stall nearest the sinks. Harry stopped dead in his tracks and felt his stomach contract when he read the messages scrawled across Myrtle’s stall: _No Slytherins. No Death Eater Scum. Leave Our School, OR ELSE!_

“Who did this?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” said Myrtle. “They’d already left by the time I got back.”

There were similar threats scrawled along the walls, some addressed directly to Draco. When Harry read those messages, a rush of hot anger swelled in the pit of his stomach, threatening to erupt like a volcano. He clenched his fists by his sides, struggling to speak in a calm, even tone, “Has Draco seen this?”

Myrtle nodded glumly. “He was so upset when he saw what they had done that he stormed out of the bathroom and hasn’t come back.”

Luna sat her buckets of paint on the floor and pointed at what looked like a signature at the bottom of one of the messages.

 _“P.A.,”_ she murmured. “Who do you reckon that could be?”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”

“If you fix the toilet, do you think that Draco will come to visit me again?” Myrtle asked desperately. “I don’t like leaving my bathroom too often, you see. I don’t like big crowds…”

Luna gave Myrtle a serene smile. “Don’t worry, we’ll get this fixed for you in no time.” She drew her wand and pointed it at the broken shards of mirror that littered the floor, _“Reparo.”_

Like a movie playing in reverse, the shards of glass flew off of the floor and back onto the wall, the pieces quickly arranging themselves like a giant jigsaw puzzle and within seconds, the mirror was repaired. Temporarily pushing his anger and worry to one side, Harry concentrated on the task at hand. He drew his own wand and they set about fixing the rest of the bathroom, putting doors back onto their stall hinges, vanishing the water all over the floor and cleaning the obscene graffiti off the walls. Harry gave Myrtle’s bathroom stall a fresh coat of paint, then Luna, armed with her paintbrush, set about painting one of her famous murals on the door. She asked Myrtle to stand (or float) still so that she could use her as a model, and Harry watched with great interest as Luna’s work of art slowly took shape. The three chatted while Luna painted. Well, mostly Myrtle talked and they listened as she described in excruciating detail the day that she died and all the people that she had haunted over the years. As Myrtle recounted how she had spent several glorious years haunting a girl called Olive Hornby, Luna applied the finishing touches to her painting and took a couple of steps back to inspect the work.

“What do you think?” she asked.

Myrtle turned to look at the painting and gasped, her thick glasses magnifying the ghostly tears welling in her eyes.

“Oh, Luna, it’s wonderful!” she breathed.

Harry couldn’t agree more. Luna had painted a portrait of Myrtle, not in her ghostly form, but when she was still a student at Hogwarts, smiling and dressed in her smart Ravenclaw robes. Above her head, Luna had written in delicate gold letters _Myrtle Warren. Died in this toilet on 13th June 1943._ Harry smiled warmly at Luna. The painting was even better than he could have imagined and Myrtle’s reaction was just what he had hoped it would be. For the most part, anyway...

“I love it,” Myrtle sobbed as fat, translucent tears poured down her cheeks. “You’ve made me look so beautiful. And so... _alive!”_

Myrtle threw her head back and wailed. Harry’s smile faltered and he cast an uncertain glance at Luna as the ghost sobbed uncontrollably, whether out of joy or despair, he wasn’t sure. With one last miserable cry, Myrtle shot straight up into the air and dived down the nearest toilet, sending a tidal wave of water over Harry and Luna’s heads. Harry grimaced and pushed his water-sodden hair out of his face, thinking that perhaps painting this mural hadn’t been such a great idea after all. Luna turned to Harry and grinned.

“I think she liked it!”

* * *

“Why didn’t you say anything?” asked Harry.

“Because there’s nothing to say,” Draco replied shortly.

“Someone wrecked Myrtle’s bathroom and left you threatening messages,” Harry countered. “There’s plenty to talk about.”

After fixing up Myrtle’s bathroom, Harry had spent the rest of his evening mulling over the threatening messages that had been written across the walls. He decided to confront Draco about it at the next opportune moment, which came about the next day during their morning Transfiguration lesson. Professor Switch had tasked each student to transfigure their hair into a different colour, then to change it back again. So far, only Hermione had managed to change hers from platinum blonde back to its normal brown colour, but curiously it was a few inches shorter than before. Currently, Draco’s hair was canary yellow and he was having some trouble changing it back.

“Sticks and stones, Potter,” he drawled, scrutinising his appearance in a small handheld mirror. “If some idiot thinks that they can ruffle my feathers by writing silly messages on the door of a toilet, they’re sorely mistaken.”

Harry (currently sporting bright red hair similar to the Weasleys) gritted his teeth in frustration at how dismissive Draco was being. “Based on my previous experience of threatening messages written outside Myrtle’s bathroom, I think it would be a big mistake to be so dismissive about this.”

“Well, speaking from my own unpleasant experiences, if someone really wants to hurt you, they don’t write to tell you about it beforehand. They just do it,” Draco shot back.

“You don’t know how serious this person is—or people, there could be more than one person involved,” Harry mused. “I know that you and McGonagall don’t exactly see eye to eye but I still think that you should speak to her about this.”

“And tell her what?” Draco snapped, glaring at Harry’s reflection in the mirror. “We both know that she’d be as glad to see the back of me as the rest of them. She’d probably award the culprits for services to the school.”

“McGonagall might not be a fan of yours but she wouldn’t stand for students being harassed, no matter who they are.”

“Wow. Thanks very much, Potter, that makes me feel much better about myself,” Draco sneered.

“You know that I’m right,” Harry argued. He sighed and shook his head in disbelief. “First the bubotuber pus, now this. How many more things need to happen before you take this seriously?” Draco remained ominously silent and Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Has anything else happened that I don’t know about?”

“You know, it’s hard to concentrate on fixing my hair when you keep nattering in my ear like a bloody Augurey,” Draco said testily, trying to change the subject. Harry grabbed him by the shoulder and made Draco face him. This drew a few curious glances from his classmates, but he didn’t care.

“You’re not telling me something,” said Harry quietly. Draco pursed his lips, which all but confirmed Harry’s suspicious. “Malfoy…”

“It’s nothing that we can’t handle, alright?” he muttered. Harry frowned.

“We?” he asked sounding confused. Draco sighed and lowered his mirror.

“For the saviour of wizardkind, it’s remarkable how oblivious you are,” he drawled. Ignoring the affronted expression on Harry’s face, he lowered his voice to barely above a whisper, “Haven’t you noticed anything different about some of your fellow classmates?”

Harry cast a curious glance over the other students, all of whom were busy staring at their reflections in their own handheld mirrors, trying to transfigure their hair. Apart from the odd hair colours, nothing else seemed out of place. He shook his head and turned back to Draco.

“They don’t look any different to me.”

Draco rolled his eyes and gave a subtle nod to the left. “Alright, what about Pansy? Don’t you think it’s odd that’s she’s been wearing sunglasses indoors for the past week?”

Harry looked over to where Pansy was sitting on the other side of the classroom and, sure enough, she was wearing large Ray-Bans that completely covered her eyes. He also noticed that rather than changing her hair colour, her normally poker straight hair was now styled in a tight perm which she was admiring from all angles in her mirror.

“Yeah, that is weird,” said Harry slowly. “What’s that all about?”

“Someone swapped out her normal telescope for one of those Boxing Telescopes that the Weasleys sell,” Draco explained. “It doesn’t matter how much Murtlap essence she uses or how much makeup she puts on, she can’t hide that black eye of hers.”

“Wow,” said Harry. “That sucks.”

“That’s nothing,” Draco gave a subtle nod to the right. “Notice anything else?”

Harry scanned the other side of the classroom and his eyes fell on Theo, who looked paler than usual and appeared to have two white handkerchiefs stuffed up each nostril. “What happened to Nott?”

“Somehow, nosebleed nougats and puking pastilles managed to find their way into the food served at breakfast this morning,” said Draco matter-of-factly. “But only the food at the Slytherin table was tampered with. What a surprise.”

“And Blaise?” Harry asked, nodding towards the other Slytherin who he just realised had a large bandage across his normally handsome face.

“An unfortunate mishap with a Nose-Biting Teacup,” Draco explained. “And they’re not the only ones. There were the first year students who ate the Canary Creams, the Bang Bang Boggart Bangers that got released in our Common Room a couple of days back…”

Harry looked around the classroom again, paying closer attention to the Slytherin students and he noticed that they were all looking a little worse for wear.

“Has anyone tried speaking to the teachers about what’s happening?” he asked.

“A couple of the younger students have,” said Draco. “Not that there’s much that the staff can do about it outside of the classroom. The rest of us know to keep our mouths shut.”

Harry frowned. “What do you mean?”

Draco sighed and twirled the mirror in his hand. “We Slytherins are well aware that the rest of the school hates us. They always have but we’ve always taken it in our stride. Hell, it was a mark of pride for some of us. I’ll admit that I enjoyed how much our victories seemed to rile up the other houses, especially the Gryffindors. We were never going to be loved, so it was better to be reviled, to be feared. But after everything that’s happened, especially in the last year...well, most of us take the abuse as a penance of sorts.”

“But that’s not fair,” Harry argued. “Most of the Slytherins had nothing to do with the war.”

“I did,” said Draco quietly. Unable to look at Harry or face his own reflection in the mirror, he kept his eyes fixed on the floor. “Not many people can take credit for starting a war, can they? I expect it’ll be written on my tombstone.”

Harry felt a wave of sympathy for Draco then. Without thinking, he reached out and rested his hand on Draco’s forearm. He felt the muscles in Draco’s arm tense but he didn’t brush Harry off.

“Voldemort started the war,” he said gently. “Years ago. Long before that night on the Astronomy Tower. Before he returned that night in the graveyard. Long before he killed my parents and tried to kill me. You and I were just pawns in other men’s wargames, we didn’t have much of a choice in anything.” Draco opened his mouth to argue but Harry pressed on, “But the few choices we did make made all of the difference in the world—when you disarmed Dumbledore but didn’t strike him down, then when I disarmed you at the Manor—neither of us knew it then, but the tide had already begun to turn in our favour. Voldemort started the war, and whether you meant it or not, you helped to end it.”

Draco didn’t immediately respond and his eyes remained fixed on his shoes, but Harry felt the tension in his arm ease a little. Harry gave his arm a quick affectionate squeeze before withdrawing and picking up his own mirror, deciding to drop the graffiti issue for the time being. He thought to himself that he really ought to try and fix his hair. He figured that if he couldn’t transfigure it back he could just shave his head; no doubt it would have grown back to its normal shaggy length come morning.

“Why are you always like this?” asked Draco.

“Like what?” asked Harry absentmindedly.

“Why are you always so... _nice?”_ he said accusingly. Harry couldn’t help but laugh and he smiled at Draco.

“What, you’d rather that I was horrible to you?”

“It’s more familiar territory,” said Draco, looking up at Harry. “You shouldn’t be so nice to me.”

“Why not? Because you don’t deserve it?” Harry took Draco’s silence as the affirmative and asked, “Does my being nice annoy you?”

“A little bit.”

Harry smirked, “Good. All the more reason to be extra nice to you in the future.”

A small smile quirked the corners of Draco’s mouth and Harry felt that increasingly familiar sensation of giddiness anytime Draco looked at him like that. Over the years, Harry had grown accustomed to Draco sneering at him. It was still a little strange to see Draco smiling at him with what looked like affection, but not unpleasantly so. In fact, Harry liked it quite a lot. He liked it so much that he found himself finding any excuse that he could think of to talk to Draco during classes, to try and see that smile that he’d grown to like so much.

A loud scream shortly followed by uproarious laughter drew Harry and Draco’s attention away from each other and they turned to see what all the commotion was. Neville, who was now completely bald, sat staring at his reflection in his mirror with a horrified expression.

“Professor,” he called, his voice pitched higher than normal. “I think I need your help.”

Professor Switch shuffled over to Neville’s desk which was covered in blonde hair. He inspected Neville’s shiny bald scalp closely and hummed to himself, “Oh dear. Are you sure that you repeated the incantation correctly?”

“I think so,” said Neville uncertainly.

 _“Forma Capillum,_ not _Forma Calvitium?”_ he asked. The colour quickly rose in Neville’s cheeks.

“Ummm…”

Professor Switch sighed and addressed the whole class, “Please remember that the incantation is _Forma Capillum,_ unless you want to suffer a similar mishap to Mr Longbottom here.”

“Will my hair grow back, sir?” asked Neville, looking panicked.

“Eventually. Until then…” Professor Switch drew his wand and transfigured a piece of chalk into a large white cowboy hat. He gave it a once-over before placing it on top of Neville’s head. “There we go! Much better.”

“I think the hat suits you,” said Luna sincerely as they filed out of the classroom at the end of the lesson. “I might transfigure one for myself.”

Neville didn’t look entirely convinced. “You really think so? What do you think, Harry?”

“Me?” he asked, surprised.

What did Harry know about fashion? He’d spent most of his life wearing Dudley’s hand-me-downs, so he didn’t feel like he was the best person to get fashion tips from. But rather than argue this point, Harry gave Neville a quick once-over and thought that he looked like the kid from the Milkybar commercials, but said that he looked like John Wayne instead. Neville, not knowing who that was, looked confused, but Harry assured him that it was a compliment. When they reached Liv’s class they found her waiting outside the classroom for them.

“There’ll be no need for parchment and quills today,” she said brightly. “I’ve got a little surprise for all of you. Everyone follow me.”

They followed Liv back down the corridor, up the marble staircase, higher and higher until they reached the seventh floor. It was only as they approached the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy that Harry realised where Liv was taking them. Sure enough, she stopped beside the blank wall across from the tapestry and waited for the stragglers to catch up before speaking again.

“I have something very special to show all of you,” she said excitedly. “Here lies probably Hogwarts’s best-kept secret—”

“We already know about the Room of Requirement,” Theo cut in. Liv’s smile faltered.

“You do?” she asked, sounding surprised.

“Everyone knows about it,” he drawled. There was a murmur of agreement and Liv looked crestfallen.

“Oh. I thought it would be a nice surprise,” she replied meekly. “Right. Well, just give me a minute and I’ll conjure the room that we need.”

The students watched as Liv closed her eyes and walked back and forth past the blank wall three times, and a few moments later a large wooden door appeared. Pushing the heavy door open, Liv beckoned everyone inside. Not surprisingly, Goyle seemed reluctant to follow everyone and Harry wondered if he would even be able to. But as Pansy took hold of his hand, he seemed to find his courage again and cautiously followed her inside.

“I figured we’d need somewhere bigger than my classroom to rehearse the play,” said Liv, stepping into the room. Harry followed close behind and couldn’t help but smile at the sight before him. The last time he had been here, the entire room had been aflame. It had been one of the scariest moments of his life, and he had been certain that he and his friends were going to die just as Crabbe had. But against all odds, they had found some old broomsticks and made it out of there alive. Now, the flames were but a distant memory, the fear extinguished as Harry stepped out of the corridor at Hogwarts and into a magnificent theatre.

Harry turned on the spot, admiring the theatre’s odd design. Unlike most theatres Harry had seen in pictures, unusually this one was round. The interior was constructed with wooden frames and comprised of three stories with covered galleries. He walked across the room towards the low stage, admiring the ceiling which was bewitched to look like a clear sky.

“This is what we call a Thrust theatre. It’s a stage that’s surrounded by the audience on three sides,” Liv explained, walking across the stage. “They’re the earliest type of stage in Western theatre and is the same kind that Shakespeare’s plays would have been performed on in the Elizabethan era.”

“Why can’t we just do the show here?” asked Pansy.

“That wouldn’t be doing it the Muggle way, would it?” Liv pointed out. “This will be ideal to use for rehearsals until the construction of the real stage is completed. Now, if you could all follow me backstage, you’ll find work stations where we can create costumes, set pieces and scenery.”

The students followed Liv behind the stage and Harry turned to speak to Draco only to find no sign of him. Sticking his head out of the door, he found Draco standing at the end of the corridor, leaning against the wall and gasping for air. Harry’s first instinct was that someone had attacked Draco, so he broke out into a run with his wand drawn.

“Malfoy,” he called, skidding to a stop by his side. “Malfoy, what happened?”

Draco was far from alright. With his eyes clenched shut, his normally alabaster skin had a sickly grey complexion, and his breaths were coming out in short, sharp gasps. Harry grabbed Draco by the shoulders and realised that he was shaking, but Draco roughly pushed him away.

“I…” he panted, his voice strained. “I just need a minute…”

Unsure of what else to do, Harry hovered awkwardly by his side, unwilling to leave him. Gradually, Draco’s breaths evened out and, slowly, he stood to his full height again, his face drenched in sweat.

“Shit,” he muttered, straightening his robes with trembling hands. It was only then that he seemed to notice Harry was staring at him. “What are you doing out here?”

“What am I—I came looking for you. What was that?” asked Harry concernedly. “Are you alright?”

“It’s nothing,” said Draco firmly, brushing his damp hair out of his face. “It happens from time to time, I just needed to catch my breath.”

“What are you boys up to out here?”

Harry turned and saw Liv striding towards them. Draco tried to compose himself, quickly wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his sleeve. Liv came to a stop in front of them and looked between the two boys.

“You’re missing all of the fun! A few of the lads have found a box full of prop swords and are trying them out on stage.” When she saw Draco’s peaky expression, she frowned. “Mr Malfoy, are you feeling alright? You look awfully pale.”

“I’m fine,” he insisted. “I—”

“He was checking on me,” Harry cut in. “I’m not feeling well.” Harry gave a feeble cough to illustrate his point. “I think I might be coming down with something. Feels like Black Cat Flu, or something...”

“Oh,” Liv took a cautious half-step back from Harry. “That’s unfortunate. Well, if you’re feeling too poorly to participate in today’s lesson then perhaps Mr Malfoy should escort you to the Hospital Wing.”

“Great idea,” said Harry quickly, grabbing Draco by the forearm. “Sorry about this, Professor. Hopefully, I’ll be well enough for tomorrow’s lesson.”

Before Liv could respond, Harry marched Draco down the corridor, only releasing his arm when they were out of sight from their Professor. They walked aimlessly for a few minutes in the opposite direction of the Hospital Wing before Draco spoke up.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said quietly. “I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.”

Harry shrugged. “I figured that you didn’t want to talk to her about happened back there.” He chanced a glance at Draco before asking, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not particularly.”

Harry nodded in understanding. He knew that he should just drop it, but he had to ask. “Does it have something to do with what happened in the Room of Requirement?”

Draco didn’t answer for a long time before finally admitting, “I don’t know what happened. When I realised where Professor Tonks was taking us, I wasn’t worried about going back there. I know that it’s just a room. But when I tried to step through the door...it felt like someone had stolen the air from my lungs.”

Draco stopped at a seated alcove and sat down. He put his head in his hands and looked despondent. “Sounds stupid, doesn’t it? After everything that’s happened, I lose my cool trying to walk through a bloody door.”

“I don’t think it sounds stupid,” said Harry gently, taking the seat next to Draco. There wasn’t much room on the seated ledge and Harry tried his best not to be distracted by how warm and firm Draco’s thigh felt pressed against his own. “Considering what happened in that room, I think that it makes perfect sense. Try not to beat yourself up over it.”

Draco looked uncertainly at Harry. “You’re not going to tell anyone about this, are you?”

Harry gave him a small smile. “Tell them what?”

Draco visibly relaxed and returned the smile. “You know what, Potter? You’re alright.”

“Yeah? Glad that you’re finally starting to realise that,” he joked, then added more seriously, “You know, if you need to talk…”

“Let’s not overstep the mark, Potter,” said Draco.

“Right you are.”

Draco cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. “I feel a lot better now. I think if I went back now, I’d probably be fine.”

“Okay...but maybe we should sit here for a bit longer,” Harry suggested. “You’re supposed to be escorting me to the Hospital Wing. Unless you’re in a rush to get back and play swordfights with the others?”

Draco huffed out a laugh. “Not particularly. Godric help me, I’m actually beginning to enjoy your company.”

Harry beamed. “So, you admit that we’re friends now?”

“Don’t put words into my mouth, Potter,” Draco teased. “But yes...I suppose that we are friends.”

Harry and Draco smiled at each other and they fell into a comfortable silence. Harry still thought that Draco should talk to someone about what happened—ideally Madam Pomfrey—but he didn’t see the point in pushing the matter any further for now. There was a definite pattern to Draco’s behaviour, one that Harry recognised in himself—to try and keep his problems to himself, determined to deal with them on his own. It was a habit that Harry still struggled to break from, even today. It was a lifelong learned behaviour that couldn’t be undone overnight, and Harry couldn’t expect Draco to take advice that he often struggled to follow himself. The best that he could do for now was to lend an ear to Draco if he ever needed it. That’s what’s friends did for each other. Harry smiled to himself at the thought: Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were friends. Merlin, how was he going to break the bad news to Ron?


	17. Chapter 17

A few days had passed since Harry had spoken to Draco about the pranks that the Slytherins had been subjected to. Thankfully, nothing else had happened since then, and he hoped that whoever was responsible had simply grown tired of their pranks and had given up. Still, that didn’t deter him from searching for the elusive P.A.’s identity. He had asked Hermione and Ron to help investigate and both had agreed, albeit reluctantly. Hermione was quick to point out how quickly Harry’s plans for a quiet, uneventful year of studying had fallen apart, but she wasn’t one to pass up the opportunity to help others or spend extra time in the library. Ron insisted that the only reason he was helping was so that he could shake the hand of the person tormenting the Slytherins, but Harry appreciated his help nonetheless. Unsure of what to look for, Hermione had suggested scouring the school register for clues. Ron had pointed out it would be pretty stupid for someone to sign the graffiti with their own initials, but Hermione insisted that they check anyway. Not surprisingly, they came up empty-handed.

“Told you we wouldn’t find anything,” Ron said unhelpfully as he flicked through a random book without reading it. Hermione slammed the school register shut with a loud thud and glared at her boyfriend.

“Do you have any better suggestions, Ronald?”

Ron gave a careless shrug. “Put a note up on the common room noticeboard asking if anyone knows who P.A. is?”

“If you don’t have any serious suggestions, I’d rather you didn’t say anything,” she said testily.

“I _was_ being serious!” he argued.

“What about a member of staff?” Harry suggested, but Hermione drew him a sceptical look.

“You really think one of the teachers is responsible for this?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “You’re right, I’m being silly. I mean, only half of my Defence teachers have tried to kill me in the past, it’s not like there’s a pattern of behaviour…”

“Alright, point taken,” she mumbled, dragging another heavy tome in front of her.

Ron slumped back into his chair and crossed his arms, looking irritable. “I don’t even know why we’re doing this. There are better things that I could be doing with my time than helping Slytherins.”

“Because it’s the right thing to do,” Harry argued, looking up from his book on magical monograms. “And it’s not like we can rely on the teachers to do anything about it. So, it’s down to us. As usual.”

Ron, however, was unswayed by Harry’s attempt to appeal to the moral high ground. “It doesn’t always have to come down to us, you know. For once it might be nice to leave the Martin Miggs adventures to someone else. And if someone’s engaging in some harmless fun pranking the Slytherins, then I say leave them to it.”

“It’s not harmless fun when they’re smashing up Myrtle’s bathroom and sending threats to students!” said Harry hotly.

“To Malfoy, you mean,” Ron sneered. “And since when do you care what he thinks? Oh yes, I forgot, you’re _friends_ now.”

Harry gritted his teeth in frustration and glared at his best friend. “How much longer are you going to act like this?”

“Like what?” asked Ron huffily.

“Like a big baby throwing a temper tantrum because I’ve made friends with someone that you don’t like.”

Ron scoffed, “You’re the one who declared him your nemesis on the first week of school! You’ve hated him for years and now all of a sudden, you two are acting like you’re best mates. How am I supposed to react?”

“You’re supposed to be my friend!” said Harry loudly. Madam Pince looked up sharply from her desk and shushed Harry, giving him a warning look that said if she heard another peep out of him, he’d be ejected from her silent sanctuary. Harry mouthed ‘sorry’ to her and turned back to Ron, lowering his voice, “Look, Malfoy and I are starring in this play together. That means we’re going to need to spend a lot more time in each other’s company, so whether you like it or not, you need to suck it up.”

“So that’s why you’re being so friendly with him?” asked Ron. “For the play?”

“Things are a lot easier when we aren’t constantly at each other’s throats,” said Harry evasively, aggressively flipping to the next page of his book.

Ron glared at Harry for a few moments before huffing out a sigh and pulling a book about ancient sigils towards him, and they read in awkward silence for a few moments.

“I still think he’s a wanker,” Ron mumbled under his breath.

Harry let out a weary sigh. “I know.”

The trio left the library later that afternoon no closer to figuring out P.A.’s identity. After a quick dinner, they headed straight back there to start homework for their other classes. Ron and Hermione may have deemed it a wasted afternoon, but Harry had welcomed the break from his seemingly neverending classes, the ever-mounting pile of homework, rehearsals for the play and slipping into empty classrooms for the occasional remedial Occlumency lesson with Draco, in which Harry was making woefully little progress.

Thankfully, Draco was more patient with Harry than Snape had been; rather than berate him for his lack of progress and mock him for reliving his most painful memories, Draco remained respectfully reticent and assured Harry that he would improve with practice. After yet another failed attempt to repel Draco—this time he’d had to relive the argument which he’d had with Ron the previous day—Draco quickly lowered his wand and Harry snarled in frustration.

“Argh, bollocks to this!” he cried, kicking one of the desks in frustration. “Why can’t I get this right?”

“You know why,” said Draco. “Because you’re too—”

“Emotional. Yes, I know that, Malfoy, it was a rhetorical question!” he snapped.

Draco didn’t look ruffled by Harry’s angry outburst. Instead, he sat in silent contemplation for a few moments before speaking again.

“Alright,” he said. “Clearly, this isn’t working.”

“Finally, something that we can both agree on,” Harry muttered. Draco cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Would you like to hear my suggestion or would you rather wallow in self-pity? Because if it’s the latter, I’ve got better things to be doing with my time.”

Harry crossed his arms and glowered at Draco. “Alright genius, what’s you’re next suggestion?”

Draco checked his pocket watch and clicked his tongue. “We only have ten minutes ‘til curfew’s enforced, so we won’t have time to do it tonight. Unless…”

Harry’s ears pricked up. “Unless..?”

Draco grinned mischievously at Harry. “Unless you’re willing to break a few school rules with me.”

Harry beamed at Draco and leapt to his feet. “I’ll grab my cloak.”

* * *

Draco would never admit to anyone the number of times he had fantasised about being in this exact scenario: sneaking about the castle on a late night adventure with Harry Potter. As much as he had hated Harry in their formative years—and oh, how he had hated him—a part of Draco had always longed to join Harry and his friends on their adventures.

He remembered in his first year following the trio one night to Hagrid’s hut and had spied through the small cabin window with a mixture of shock and awe as a baby dragon had hatched before his eyes. It had been a magical moment, one that he would never forget, and for the briefest of moments, he had convinced himself that he was sharing the moment with the trio, not hidden under the shadow of darkness by the window. But when Harry and his friends had spotted him and he had seen the expressions of shock and anger written across their faces, Draco had come crashing back to reality: he was no friend of Harry’s. Harry _hated_ him. Harry was having this magical moment and the cruellest part of Draco wanted to ruin it for him because if Draco couldn’t be happy, then nobody could.

Draco knew that he had been a spiteful child. When Harry had rejected his offer of friendship, it had crushed him. He had never been refused anything in his life up until that point and, in all honesty, Draco was ill-prepared to deal with the rejection. Little did he know just how many more times he would experience that in a few short years.

Yet here he was now, tip-toeing through Hogwarts in the dead of night (well, a little after nine o’clock in the evening) hidden under an Invisibility Cloak with Harry. It was as surprising as it was riveting. They walked across the castle grounds in the direction of the Quidditch Stadium, the soft grass muffling their footsteps. Draco couldn’t help but marvel at the sight of his feet making impressions in the grass while the rest of him remained invisible.

“Wouldn’t it have made more sense to do this somewhere indoors?” asked Harry. “We’re less likely to get caught.”

“It’s essential that we find somewhere quiet, private and—most importantly—a place that you can feel relaxed in order to do this right,” said Draco. “That isn’t going to happen in a stuffy old classroom.”

Harry sighed. “Fair enough. At least it isn’t raining.”

Only when they were safely inside the Quidditch Stadium did Harry pull the Invisibility Cloak off of them and stuff it into his backpack.

“I doubt Filch ever checks inside the stadium, so hopefully we won’t be interrupted,” he said, trying and failing to flatten his hair. It was sticking out in all directions but Draco thought that it rather suited him.

“Have you had the chance to fly again since we were last here?” asked Harry, following Draco as he waded through the grass to the centre of the pitch.

“Unfortunately not,” he sighed. “What about you?”

Harry shook his head. “My new Firebolt arrived a couple of days back and I’ve been dying to try it out, but I just haven’t had the time.”

“That’s unfortunate,” said Draco before casually suggesting, “Well, maybe next time we could forgo the Occlumency for an evening and test out that new broomstick of yours instead.”

Harry flashed Draco a brilliant smile which made his stomach do a little backflip. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Of course, since I let you have a shot of my broomstick, I think it’s only fair that I get a ride of yours,” Draco teased.

As soon as the words left his mouth he realised how suggestive that had sounded and felt a stab of panic at how Harry would react. Harry’s eyes momentarily widened with surprise but then he gave Draco a cheeky grin and said smoothly, “I think that’s a fair trade. I must admit, I had fun riding your broomstick, Malfoy.”

Draco’s mouth suddenly went dry and wonderfully obscene images of Harry doing just that flitted through his mind. Obviously, that wasn’t what Harry had in mind, so he desperately tried pushing those thoughts aside and ignored the stirring in his trousers. Clearing his throat he said, “Yes, well...the Nimbus 2001 may be an older model but it’s far superior to the Firebolt in my opinion: better made and more reliable.”

He could feel himself rambling, keenly aware of Harry’s eyes watching him closely with a smile teasing his lips. Harry gave a slight shrug. “Maybe it is. I guess the only way to know for sure is to take them both out for a ride: contrast and compare.” There was a pregnant pause before he added, “Mine’s definitely bigger, though.”

Draco scoffed and turned to face Harry as they reached the centre of the pitch. “I seriously doubt that.”

Harry put his hands on his hips and smirked. “I guess there’s only one way to find out.”

Draco had the feeling that they weren’t talking about broomsticks anymore. Harry was looking expectantly at him, with those amazing emerald eyes that Draco could easily get lost in, waiting for his cheeky comeback. But Draco’s mind, for the first time in his life, drew a complete blank. He was suddenly aware of how close Harry was to him, that they stood in the middle of a very large pitch only inches apart and very much alone. He wondered what would happen if he kissed Harry then, their lips were so close he would only have to lean forward a little bit to press them together. Thankfully, he caught himself before he could do anything stupid and lowered his gaze.

“Unfortunately, we’re not here to compare broomsticks—not today, at least—we’re trying to teach you how to protect that mind of yours.”

To Draco’s surprise, Harry’s smile faltered and his hands fell limp by his sides. He took a half-step back from Draco, looking a little sheepish. “Right. Of course…”

Draco began to wonder if he had miscalculated the moment, but if there had been a moment then it had Disapparated as quickly as it had arisen. Deciding that he was attributing too much meaning to Harry’s friendly behaviour— _definitely just friendly, not flirty,_ he told himself—he continued, “Now, from what I hear you’re pretty good at resisting the Imperius Curse. Well, Occlumency is similar insofar as it also requires a great amount of willpower. I’m not convinced that you’re incapable of learning this, even if you do have the attention span of a Jobberknoll.”

“A good way to start any lesson is by insulting your student,” said Harry flatly.

“Force of habit,” said Draco mildly. “Now, the key to mastering elementary Occlumency is learning to clear your mind of thoughts and emotions.”

“Which I suck at,” Harry chipped in.

“Indeed. So I thought rather than trying to completely empty your mind, I want you to try focusing on a single object instead.”

Harry frowned. “Like what?”

“Something that is easy for your attention to rest on,” he explained. “Something which brings pleasant emotions without too much excitement or boredom. Sometimes it’s easier to picture something that is meaningful to you, but try not to get distracted by its associations; the goal is to focus on the object itself.”

Harry thought for a moment. “So...something like a Snitch would be a good object to focus on?”

“That would be ideal,” said Draco. “It’s small with a simple structure and easy to picture in your mind’s eye. Now you’ve picked an object to focus on, the next step is to relax.”

“Okay…” said Harry uncertainly. “How do I do that, exactly?”

“Why do you think I brought you here?” Draco sat down in the tall grass and patted the ground, inviting Harry to join him. Harry sat down cross-legged next to Draco, looking tense. “You said that when things got too crazy, you used to come here because it was peaceful, right?”

Harry looked surprised. “Uh, yeah. I did say that.”

“Well, what better place to relax than somewhere that you find peaceful?” said Draco. “Make yourself comfortable: keep sitting cross-legged, lie down, whatever makes you feel most relaxed.”

After a moment’s contemplation, Harry chose to lie flat on his back, his fingers laced together on top of his belly. “Now what?”

“Close your eyes,” Draco instructed. “Picture the Snitch in your mind’s eye. Imagine the weight of it in your hand, feel its cold, hard surface, concentrate on all its minute details…”

Draco talked Harry through the different techniques to relax and focus his mind, eventually falling silent and waiting until Harry felt relaxed enough to begin. He tried to focus on the stars overhead, but he couldn’t help but cast furtive glances in Harry’s direction, where he lay sprawled out in the grass with a contented expression. He so wanted to reach out and brush Harry’s hair from his face, the better to see those beautiful emerald eyes, sparkling in the light of the low-hanging moon. He wondered again what it would be like to kiss him, then immediately admonished himself for even entertaining the thought. How could he be foolish enough to think that Harry had been flirting with him? Draco was just convincing himself of things that he wanted to be there that weren’t. Besides, even though he and Harry might be on good terms now, _that_ wasn’t likely to ever happen. Harry liked girls, for one thing, but most damning of all was that despite them being on talking terms, he was still Draco Malfoy. Shakespeare had argued that a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet, but his name and his past deeds condemned him from pursuing anything more than a tentative friendship with Harry.

“I think I’m ready.”

Harry’s voice snapped Draco from his forbidden revery and he realised then that Harry was smiling up at him.

“Okay,” Draco drew his wand. “Let’s give this a go, shall we?”

Harry sat up and positioned himself in front of Draco, crossing his legs and letting out a long breath before slowly closing his eyes.

“Let’s do this,” he said determinedly.

Draco quirked a smile at Harry’s quiet confidence. Pointing his wand at Harry he said, “On the count of three. One...two...three... _Legilimens!”_

Usually, it took Draco no time at all to tear down Harry’s defences, but this time he noticed a marked improvement in his mental barrier. It was by no means perfect, however, and it didn’t take long for Draco to find weak points. He pushed forward, applying pressure to the weakest areas and felt Harry begin to push back, a slight frown of concentration forming on his forehead. After a few more moments of testing Harry’s mental barriers, Draco broke the connection. Harry’s shoulders immediately sagged and he opened his eyes.

“How did I do?” he asked, sounding a little breathless.

“A vast improvement,” said Draco. “But I know that you can do better.”

They spent the next hour practising and Harry slowly started to improve. As the evening grew darker and clouds covered the moon, they were suddenly plunged into darkness. Draco cast a Wand-Lighting Charm, bathing them both in pale white light and suggested that they call it a night. But Harry, feeling confident, insisted on having one more shot.

“I think I’ve finally cracked it,” said Harry with more certainty than Draco felt was warranted. “This time I want you to give me everything you’ve got.”

“Are you sure?” asked Draco cautiously. “You think that you’re ready for that?”

“Definitely,” said Harry firmly, rolling his shoulders and readying himself. “Don’t hold back this time.”

Draco raised his wand a little but paused. “I don’t know about this—”

“Malfoy, just do it already,” Harry cut in impatiently. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “If I can’t resist you, then I’ve got no chance against a dark wizard, have I? So, just go for it. Hit me with your best shot.”

Draco worried his lip for a moment before finally pointing his wand at Harry. He didn’t want to undo all the progress that had been made that evening, but he had to trust that Harry knew what he was doing.

“I won’t hold back this time,” he warned. Harry gave a curt nod in understanding. Draco let out a shaky breath and said, “Okay. On the count of three. One...two...three... _Legilimens!”_

As promised, Draco didn’t hold anything back. He threw everything he had into the spell and, to his surprise, Harry managed to resist his attack for a few seconds before he could feel cracks forming in his defences. Harry gritted his teeth with frustration and, with great mental effort, pushed back against Draco’s attack, momentarily repelling him only for Draco to push back even harder. Back and forth they fought, Draco knew it was only a matter of time before he broke through into Harry’s mind. Draco gripped his wand tighter and pushed forward. Harry cried out as his mental barrier collapsed entirely and a flood of memories came tumbling forth: Ginny kissing Harry...Ginny crying as Harry apologised over and over again...Harry sitting in the Orchard with Ginny on a hot summer’s day—

_“Ginny, you know that I love you.”_

Draco saw Harry sitting under an apple tree with Ginny by his side, her expression grave. Harry was trying desperately to force Draco out of his head but it was no use. He was forced to watch unblinkingly as the scene played out inside his own head.

_“I know you do,” Ginny replied stiffly, staring at her feet. “And I love you, too. But that’s not enough.”_

_“Why not?” Harry implored. “I can do better. I can try harder. Just tell me what to do, Gin, and I’ll do it. What can I do to change your mind?”_

Draco could feel Harry’s fear and frustration then. Whatever this memory was, he really didn’t want Draco to see it—

_“Nothing,” Ginny replied firmly. Her shoulders sagged when she saw the despondent expression on Harry’s face and replied more gently, “Look, you didn’t do anything wrong, but you can’t change who you are.”_

In desperation, Harry raised his wand and pointed it at Draco.

 _“Protego!”_ he cried.

As the words burst from Harry’s mouth, Draco gasped and suddenly Harry was hurtling through his memories: Draco hugging his mother at the train station...Professor Tonks’s mug exploding...Theo shouting in Draco’s face that they weren’t friends anymore...Harry laughing in the Hospital Wing...Harry smiling and holding his hand out to Draco...Harry’s smile...Harry’s eyes, looming closer, his breath tickling Draco’s lips—

Draco lunged forward and pushed Harry flat onto his back, knocking his wand out of his hand in the process. The connection between their minds was instantly severed and Harry looked around disoriented, sprawled across the grass as Draco loomed over him on his hands and knees, looking panic-stricken.

“What are you playing at?” said Draco angrily.

“I…” Harry stammered. “I’m sorry, I panicked—”

“How did you even...” Realising how close he and Harry were, Draco quickly crawled backwards and scrambled to his feet. He glowered down at Harry who had made no attempt to get up; he just lay there staring up at Draco with a shocked expression. Draco felt naked under Harry’s intense gaze, shame and anger coursing through him. He gritted his teeth and pointed accusingly at Harry. “You had no right doing that!”

Harry frowned and sat upright. “No right? You’ve spent hours waltzing around in my head seeing my worst memories. I manage to get past your defences for a split second and you freak out!”

“We agreed that I would help you learn Occlumency, my memories are off-limits!”

“It was an accident!” Harry argued.

“Bullshit!” shouted Draco. He felt exposed, vulnerable, like Harry had picked up his diary and read aloud his most intimate thoughts and feelings. A moment ago, he had wanted to kiss Harry, now he wanted to punch him. Well, he still wanted to kiss him and that was exactly the problem. And now Harry knew that he wanted to kiss him too and by the expression on Harry’s face, he looked mortified at the mere thought. Draco’s stomach twisted painfully with shame. He couldn’t bear to look at Harry another second, it was too embarrassing. Stalking past Harry he muttered, “Lesson’s over, Potter. Find someone else to teach you from now on.”

Harry stared after Draco. “Are you serious? I’m finally starting to make some headway with this and you want to stop?”

“Not my problem,” said Draco shortly.

Harry clambered back onto his feet and chased after Draco, then skidded to a halt when he realised that his wand was still lying on the ground. He fell to his hands and knees, groping blindly for his wand in the tall grass calling out, “Malfoy, wait. Let’s talk about this!”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” said Draco, quickening his pace. Harry shouted after him, but his voice was lost amidst a crack of thunder and suddenly the heavens opened up. The rain beat down ferociously onto Draco’s head, drenching his robes and filling his shoes with water, but he didn’t care. Right now, he just needed to put as much distance between himself and Harry as possible.

Things had been so much easier and straightforward when he had just hated Harry. These other feelings...being friends with him...it just made things more complicated. The last thing that Draco needed right now was to make his life any more complicated than it already was.

* * *

Harry’s waterlogged shoes squelched as he shuffled into Gryffindor Tower well after midnight. He had called after Draco, hoping that he would come back to help him look for his wand, but either Draco had ignored him or couldn’t hear Harry’s voice over the storm, because he had kept marching ahead, disappearing into the darkness within seconds. The rain had poured relentlessly onto Harry’s head, soaking him through to the skin in moments as he scrambled blindly through the sodden grass searching for his wand. By the time he had managed to retrieve it, he was in such a foul mood that he didn’t even bother throwing his Invisibility Cloak over his head. He just trudged back to the castle feeling thoroughly sorry for himself and pissed off at Draco’s behaviour.

Luckily for him, the only person he happened across was Sir Nicholas who, after checking that Harry was alright, escorted him back to Gryffindor Tower to make sure that he didn’t make any more late night diversions. He tried to sneak into the dormitory as quietly as possible, hoping that everyone else was asleep, but Ron sat on his bed reading a magazine, evidently waiting for him. He looked up as Harry slipped inside and cocked an eyebrow at his friend’s dishevelled appearance.

“Did you have another falling out with Myrtle?” he asked.

“Not with Myrtle,” said Harry, closing the door behind him. Ron hmphed and tossed his magazine onto his bedside table.

“I take it that this friendship between you and Malfoy has come to an end?” he asked, making no effort to hide the amusement in his voice. Harry tore off his wet clothes and pulled on his pyjamas without saying anything, pointedly avoiding Ron’s inquisitive gaze. Ron chuckled, “I hate to say ‘I told you so’ mate, but are you really that surprised?”

Harry slipped under the covers of his bed and quickly drew the curtains around his four-poster, Ron’s smug face disappearing from view. Harry was too angry and embarrassed to even respond to Ron’s taunts. He just wanted to go to sleep and forget this night had ever happened. Ron popped his head through the curtain and Harry suppressed a groan, expecting Ron to continue teasing him but his expression was more sympathetic than mocking.

“I’m sorry if you two had a falling out,” he said.

“No, you’re not,” Harry mumbled.

“Okay, I’m not really,” Ron relented. “But I am sorry if you’re upset, though, and that’s the truth. Did Malfoy do something to upset you?”

Harry sighed and shook his head. “No, it was my fault what happened.”

“Hmm, that’s unfortunate,” said Ron. “I’d have liked an excuse to hex that smug look off of his face.”

Ron and Harry smiled weakly at each other. Harry knew that Ron was only trying to cheer him up and although he still felt miserable, he appreciated the effort his best friend was making. Ron hesitated a moment before asking, “Do you um...want to talk about it, or…”

“No,” said Harry quickly. “Thanks, but no.”

Ron looked relieved at having to avoid any further discussion of Malfoy. “Alright. Well, you know where I am if you need me.”

Ron retreated back to his own bed, leaving Harry to mull over the events of the evening. Things had started out well enough; with Draco’s guidance, his Occlumency skills had improved greater than he ever could have hoped for. And although their sessions had been hard work, Harry had enjoyed Draco’s company. Perhaps he’d gotten a little carried away this evening; he wasn’t a flirty person by nature, but he and Draco had gotten into the habit of teasing each other. But based on Draco’s awkward reaction to Harry’s joke about the broomsticks, perhaps he’d pushed it too far. Everything really went downhill when Harry got overconfident and had challenged Draco not to hold back with the Legilimency spell. And then Draco had accessed that particular memory…

Harry cringed at the thought and covered his eyes as though that would block out the mental image of what happened next, but of course, it made no difference. Why oh why had his brain decided to bring that particular memory to the forefront of his mind? It wasn’t that Harry planned on keeping his sexuality secret all of his life, but stumbling across an old memory wasn’t how he wanted anyone to find out, least of all Draco. In a moment of panic, he’d drawn his wand in a desperate bid to get Draco out of his head. He really hadn’t intended to take a peek at Draco’s memories.

His hands slid from his face and he crossed his arms over his chest, recalling what he had seen in Draco’s mind. Seeing himself through Draco’s eyes—and more importantly, sensing Draco’s feelings for him—had been illuminating, and wholly unexpected. Despite Draco’s angry reaction, far from hating Harry, his emotions suggested that Draco actually liked him, a great deal more than he let on. The idea that Draco might like Harry the same way, the possibility that he might even reciprocate his feelings, was as frightening as it was exciting to think about. But then he had seen how upset Draco had been afterwards and Harry began to worry that he had royally screwed things up before anything had even begun.

Harry sighed and rolled over onto his side, hugging himself and wishing that he had someone to talk to about his feelings. It was in moments like these that he missed Sirius the most, although he could imagine his godfather’s reaction if he admitted to liking Draco Malfoy of all people. “A rose by any other name” Shakespeare said. If Draco wasn’t a Malfoy and he wasn’t Harry Potter, maybe things would be so much simpler. But they weren’t and it wasn’t. Harry’s life was one of neverending drama. Harry closed his eyes and fell into a restless sleep. He supposed he ought to just accept that already.


	18. Chapter 18

“Act one, scene one,” Liv announced from her seat facing the stage. “Gregory and Sampson enter from the right. And...ACTION!”

Pansy strode confidently onto the stage followed by Goyle who shuffled close behind her, both of them armed with prop swords and bucklers. Pansy, who was still wearing her oversized sunglasses, faced Goyle and struck a dramatic pose, clearly in her element. Goyle, however, stood with his shoulders hunched as though trying to make himself appear as small as possible, which was impossible considering how large he was. Pansy cleared her throat, trying to prompt her friend into action.

“It’s your line,” she hissed out of the corner of her mouth. Goyle looked flustered at being addressed and gave his head a quick shake.

“Right. Um…” he lifted his shield a little higher to read lines from the script that he had hidden behind it. “Gregory, on my word, we’ll not carry coals.”

Pansy threw her head back and gave a hearty laugh in response. “No, for then we should be colliers!”

There was a pregnant pause as Goyle screwed up his eyes to better read the next line and stumbled over the words, “I mean, an be we—whoops, no, um—we _be_ in col-choler...we’ll draw.”

Pansy thrust her sword into the air and declared, “Ay, while you live, draw your neck out of collar!”

“Miss Parkinson,” Liv called, interrupting the scene. “As much as I admire your passion, you probably don’t need to throw the prop sword about quite so much.”

“What’s the point of having a sword if you’re not going to use it?” she pouted, swinging the rapier through the air, narrowly missing Goyle’s head.

“And you will,” Liv assured her. “In a couple of pages’ time, when Gregory and Sampson fight Abraham. Just reign it in a little bit until we reach the actual fight scene. Yes, Mr Goyle, do you have a question?”

Goyle had tentatively raised his hand and slowly lowered it again before asking, “Professor, I um...I’m not sure why I’m playing Sampson.”

Liv frowned. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Goyle shrugged. “Well, wouldn’t it make more sense if I played Gregory? Since it’s...you know...my name.”

Liv cocked an eyebrow. “You’d rather play Miss Parkinson’s role because you have the same name as him?”

“If you wouldn’t mind,” he chanced. “It would be a lot easier for me to remember.”

Liv sighed wearily, “Mr Goyle…”

“I don’t mind swapping,” Pansy chipped in, flashing Goyle a bright smile. “I’m happy for Gregory here to play Gregory.”

“Are you sure?” asked Liv, but Pansy insisted that it wasn’t an issue. Liv gave a careless shrug. “Very well. I have no objection if Miss Parkinson is happy to swap roles.”

Goyle gave Pansy a grateful smile and they quickly swapped scripts and places on the stage. Once they were ready, Liv gave them the cue to start again.

“From the beginning. And...ACTION.”

While Liv focused on pulling a noteworthy performance from Pansy and Goyle, backstage was a flurry of activity. Several students were pouring over their lines, some trying to memorise them by practising in small groups while others, like Draco, preferred to sit alone and read in silence. Ron and Theo were busy trying to coordinate their upcoming fight scene while Luna and Neville—now sporting matching cowboy hats—sat and sketched out ideas for set pieces that they needed to build. It seemed that despite their initial reluctance to take part, all of the students were now taking the play seriously and seemed determined to do a good job at whatever task they had been assigned.

Harry sat backstage in a far corner, watching proceedings in silent amusement. Although arguments still regularly broke out between the Slytherins and Gryffindors, gradually everyone was learning to work alongside one another. He could even see tentative friendships beginning to form: Neville and Goyle had taken to greeting each other in the mornings with a stiff, formal nod; Pansy had complimented Luna’s new hat, describing it as “totally bangin’”, much to the delight of the dotty Ravenclaw, who in turn complimented Pansy’s black eye to much less enthusiasm; and the fact that Ron was not only talking to Theo Nott without his wand drawn, but that they were laughing and joking with each other as they swung the wooden swords at each other was remarkable progress.

Naturally, Harry’s wandering eyes fell onto Draco, who sat on his own with his feet propped up on an empty chair, nose buried in his script. He had a slight crease on his brow as he concentrated on reading his lines, his dark grey eyes flitting back and forth across the page. A couple of days had passed since their nighttime jaunt to the Quidditch Stadium and, much to Harry’s disappointment, they hadn’t spoken since. He figured that he’d leave Draco a few days to cool down before trying to speak to him again, but he found that he rather missed talking to the snarky Slytherin. His eyes fell towards Draco’s lips, pink and wet as he unconsciously sucked on the tip of his quill, completely unaware to the effect that this small action was having on Harry. He felt like he’d begun to obsess over Draco’s lips in the last few days, wondering how they would feel against his own. Would they feel as soft as they look? What did he taste like? Harry imagined that Draco tasted of something fresh and outdoorsy, like spearmint. His pleasant daydream was rudely interrupted when he felt a sharp nudge to his ribs. Finally, he tore his eyes away from Draco and turned to Ginny, who drew him a withering look.

“Hey Romeo, pay attention will you?” she chastised. “I want to give this scene another run-through before doing it in front of Professor Tonks.”

“Sorry,” he said distractedly, fumbling with his script. “What page are we on again?”

“Page eleven. What sadness lengthens Romeo’s hours, yadda yadda…”

“Ah. Right, got it.” Harry cleared his throat and read the first line, “Not having that which makes them short.”

“In love?” Ginny inquired.

“Out,” Harry replied shortly.

“Of love?” she asked curiously.

“Out of her favour where I am in love,” he replied, casting another furtive glance at Draco as he spoke. Ginny tsked and slapped him on the arm with her script.

“Ow! What was that for?” he exclaimed, rubbing the spot where she had struck him.

“You’re supposed to be looking at me when you speak, not Malfoy!” she said irritably.

“I wasn’t looking at Malfoy!” Harry argued but Ginny snorted and shook her head in disbelief.

“You’re a terrible liar, you know that?” she mused. “You look like you’re jealous of that quill of his.”

Harry’s face burned with embarrassment and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Despite knowing that Ginny wasn’t a Legilimens, she always had the uncanny ability of knowing exactly what Harry was thinking.

“I don’t know what you’re on about,” he replied weakly.

“Sure you don’t,” she chuckled. She nodded towards Draco. “So, what’s going on with you two?”

“What do you mean?”

“I couldn’t help but notice that you and Malfoy have been talking a lot more during classes,” she said, giving Harry a searching look. “Anything you want to tell me?”

“There’s nothing to tell,” he replied evasively, turning back to his script to avoid her intense gaze.

“Really?” she asked, sounding unconvinced. “That’s not what I’ve heard.”

Harry let out an exasperated sigh. “You’ve been talking to Ron, then?”

“He says that you and Malfoy are friends now.”

“And what if we are?” Harry asked defensively, looking up at her. But when he saw that Ginny’s expression was more curious than accusatory, his shoulders sagged and he admitted, “Well, I don’t know if we actually are friends anymore, to be honest. We had a bit of a falling out.”

“Oh?” she said interestedly. “What did he do?”

“Why does everyone assume that he’s the one who did anything? It was actually my fault, if you must know.”

“Alright. What did _you_ do?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he replied shortly.

“What a surprise,” she quipped. Harry drew her a dirty look and turned back to his script.

“Let’s start from the beginning,” he suggested, hoping to steer the conversation away from himself and Draco. “Is the day so young?”

“So this ‘friendship’ of yours,” Ginny pressed on, ignoring Harry’s prompt to keep reading from the script. “You are just friends, aren’t you? Or is it something more?”

A slightly hysterical laugh burst out of Harry at that suggestion. “What? No! I mean—yes, of course, we’re just friends. Well, at least I _think_ we’re still friends. Like I said, I don’t really know what’s happening between us at the moment...not that there’s anything happening between us, I mean.”

Surprisingly, Harry’s rambling response did little to convince Ginny that his and Draco’s friendship was platonic in nature.

“Wow,” she said sarcastically. “You’re an even worse liar than I thought.”

Harry sighed and lowered his script again. “Honestly, there’s nothing going on between us. And even if I was interested in him, which I’m not,”—Ginny rolled her eyes but said nothing—“I doubt he's that way inclined." 

“So you admit that you do like him?” she asked.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You as good as.” Ginny laughed at the panicked expression on Harry’s face. “Oh, don’t get your wand in a knot! I won’t say anything. There’s no accounting for your taste in men, but each to their own, I suppose.”

"I don't fancy Malfoy!" he insisted, casting a nervous glance around them in case anyone else had overheard. Ginny grinned mischievously at him and held her hands up in mock surrender.

"Alright, Romeo, if you insist. Although, if you ask me, thou doth protest too much,” she joked.

"Don't go quoting Shakespeare at me," he warned.

“Alright alright, I’ll lay off,” she said casually, turning back to her own script. “Well, since you’ve made it abundantly clear that you don’t fancy Malfoy, then you won’t be bothered about your upcoming kiss scene with him.”

Harry’s heart missed a beat. “What kiss scene?”

“Your kiss scene,” Ginny repeated, giving Harry a despairing look. “Oh, don’t tell me you haven’t even read that far ahead yet? It’s in the first act, for Godric’s sake!”

Harry flipped desperately through his script searching for the scene in question, hoping that this was Ginny’s idea of a terrible joke. “I’ve been pretty busy lately in case you haven’t noticed! Where’s this scene that you’re talking about?”

“Scene five,” Ginny scanned her own script and pointed out the key line to Harry. “There you are: ‘Thus from my lips by yours my sin is purged.’ It’s a bit cheesy for my liking, but whatever floats your boat…”

Harry snatched the script out of Ginny’s hands, his eyes darting back and forth across the page as he read and reread the scene. His heart began thudding painfully in his chest; there was no mistaking what it meant. “I need to kiss Malfoy?”

“Obviously,” Ginny drawled. “It is a romantic tragedy, Harry. What did you think you were going to do—duel him?”

“Duelling I can do,” Harry bemoaned, passing the script back to her. “Kissing is something else entirely.”

Ginny patted him reassuringly on the back but made no attempt to hide her wicked grin. “Don’t worry about it, it’s only acting! And now that you two are friends, it’ll make this a lot less awkward, won’t it? It’ll be like kissing me.”

Harry very much doubted that.

Theo, still armed with his sword, marched over to where Harry and Ginny were sitting and beckoned Ginny to follow. “We’re up next, Weasley.”

Ginny flashed Harry a quick smile and snatched her own sword off of the floor. “Looks like it’s my time to shine! We’ll chat about this more later, yeah?” Harry watched as Ginny hurried away. As she disappeared behind the curtain onto the stage he heard her cry, “Part, fools! Put up your swords. You know not what you do!”

Harry looked over at Draco again and felt his heart rate quicken. Only moments before, he had been daydreaming about what it would be like to kiss him, but now that the opportunity had presented itself, the thought of actually doing it was slightly terrifying. What if Draco refused to kiss Harry? Or worse still, what if he thought Harry was a terrible kisser? Oh Merlin, what if he was a horrible kisser and nobody had ever had the heart to tell him? The usual, nonsensical worries played through Harry’s mind as he sat chewing his thumbnail, trying to figure out how to broach the subject with Draco.

 _Just go over there and talk to him,_ he told himself, but his legs refused to move. It was a funny thing how Harry always managed to take dragons and Death Eaters in his stride, but matters of the heart had him completely flummoxed. Steeling himself before his courage failed him, Harry hopped to his feet and marched over to Draco without a clue what he was going to say. It was a risky move on his part but, based on previous experience, planning ahead never helped him much anyway.

Harry came to a stop by Draco’s side. Draco, however, didn’t look up, either too engrossed in his reading to notice Harry or he was making a point of ignoring him. Harry hovered awkwardly by Draco’s side for a few moments before clearing his throat to get the other boy’s attention. Draco finally looked up at him then, his expression remaining impassive.

“Potter,” he greeted him coolly, using his index finger to bookmark his script. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I need to talk to you,” said Harry. The corners of Draco’s mouth twitched as though he were trying to suppress a smile.

“I would assume as much since you came over here to speak to me,” he drawled. Harry rolled his eyes and bit back a cheeky retort.

“Right. Look, I want to apologise for what happened the other night,” he began. Draco’s smile fell but Harry continued, “I really wasn’t expecting to be able to get inside your head. Seeing someone else’s memories...it’s like reading their diary, only it’s so much worse because you’re able to feel what they feel, too. It’s embarrassing and awkward and I understand why you were upset.”

“Yes, it’s quite invasive,” Draco replied stiffly. “But...I know what you did wasn’t intentional. And I may have overreacted a little bit, storming off like I did. I probably should have stayed to help you look for your wand.”

“Yeah, it took me longer than I care to admit to realise that I just had to use wandless magic to Summon it,” Harry laughed. “So, we’re good?”

Harry couldn’t disguise the hopeful note in his voice. Draco gave him a small smile. “Yes, we’re good.”

“Great. Cool.” Harry hesitated before saying, “About what we saw, our memories—”

“Any memories that I saw in your head are none of my business,” Draco cut in. “Just as anything that you think you saw in mine is none of yours. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” said Harry quickly, letting out a sigh of relief. At least that was one awkward conversation out of the way. “So, about the play—”

“You’re awfully chatty today, Potter,” Draco mused.

“I’d be a lot quicker saying what I need to say if you didn’t keep interrupting me,” he pointed out. Harry took a deep breath before speaking again, “I was just wondering if, well...see, I was reading the script and I got to the part with the um…with you and me, when we uh...” Draco looked increasingly amused as Harry stumbled over his words. Annoyed by his own awkwardness, Harry decided to just cut to the chase, “Act one scene five: have you read it yet?”

“Yes,” Draco replied simply. Harry raised his eyebrows.

“Y-you have?” he asked, sounding surprised.

“I’ve read the whole thing.” Draco frowned at him. “Haven’t you?”

“Um, I’ve almost finished it,” he lied. “So, that scene...you’re okay with it?”

“Well, I can’t remember off the top of my head what happens.” Draco began flipping through his script to double check. His eyes quickly scanned the page in question then stilled. “Ah. _That_ scene.”

“Yeah, that one,” Harry laughed nervously. “You see why I wanted to talk to you about it.”

Draco closed the script and gave Harry a searching look. “Are _you_ okay with it?”

“Uh, sure,” said Harry uncertainly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, it’s just acting, right?”

“Indeed.” They looked at each other in silence for a few moments before Draco lowered his gaze and opened his script up again. “Well, since we’re both okay with it…I should probably get back to learning my lines.”

“Oh. Yeah, me too.” Harry took a step away from Draco only to immediately turn around and face him again. “You know, since it’s our first scene together, we should probably practice it. Together, I mean.”

He said the words as quickly as he could before he completely lost his nerve. Draco looked up at Harry with a surprised expression. “You think?”

Harry shrugged. “Only if you think we should.”

Draco bit his lip and after a moment he nodded. “Yeah, okay. It’s probably a good idea to run through the scene a couple of times before we perform it in front of everyone else.”

Harry nodded vigorously. “Great. I mean, cool. Alright then.”

Harry turned to leave when Draco called after him, “When should we practice?”

“Oh,” Harry spun on his feel to face Draco again with a goofy smile on his face. “Right, of course. We should probably arrange a time. Um, what about tonight?”

Draco shrugged nonchalantly. “Fine by me.”

“Alright, I’ll meet you outside the Great Hall after dinner. We should probably do it somewhere private.”

“Preferably indoors,” Draco chipped in, smiling slightly. Harry laughed.

“Yeah, indoors would be better,” he agreed. “You want to come up to Gryffindor Tower?”

Draco frowned. “Are you sure? Won’t other people be a bit funny about me being there?”

“They’ll be fine,” Harry assured him. “You’re with me, so nobody will say anything. Besides, most folk will be out at the Frog Choir show tonight.”

“You don’t mind missing it?” asked Draco but Harry shook his head.

“Nah, I was going to give it a miss anyway.”

Draco nodded and smiled. “Okay. I’ll see you tonight, then.”

Harry grinned. “Great. It’s a date!”

Ignoring the shocked expression on Draco’s face, Harry turned on his heel and sauntered back to his seat, feeling incredibly giddy. He flicked through his script grinning stupidly to himself, unable to take in any of the words on the page, but he didn’t care. His head was firmly in the clouds again with only one person in mind.

“Hey, Romeo!” Harry’s head snapped up and he saw Ginny standing at the side of the stage beckoning him. “Get your head out of the clouds, you’re up next!”

“Coming!” Harry slid off of his seat and hurried towards the stage, still smiling. Ginny cocked a curious eyebrow at him.

“You do realise that you’re supposed to be miserable,” she pointed out. Harry’s smile faltered.

“I am?” he asked, confused. Ginny rolled her eyes.

“You’re lovesick over Rosaline, remember? I wouldn’t walk on stage with that goofy smile on your face.” She shook her head and marched back onstage. “Never mind. Just try to remember your lines.”

Harry gave himself a little shake and set his expression into a deep frown, trying to get into the character of a moody, lovesick teenager. Luckily for him, that was as natural as breathing.

* * *

It took all of Harry’s willpower not to wolf down his dinner that evening and run out of the Great Hall to meet Draco. Instead, he forced himself to take his time and chew his food properly—he didn’t want to give the appearance of being too eager, after all. Harry wished Neville and Trevor good luck in the show before excusing himself from the Gryffindor table. The majority of students, including Ron and Hermione, were staying behind to watch the Frog Choir perform, so there was a good chance that he and Draco would have the common room to themselves for the evening.

As he exited the Great Hall, it suddenly occurred to him that Draco might not show up, but his moment of panic was quickly dispelled as he saw Draco lingering by the Grand Staircase with his arms crossed, looking as nervous as Harry felt. When he saw Harry approach, his arms fell by his sides and relief flitted across his face.

“You’re late,” he accused. Harry snorted.

“You’re early,” he shot back. “Ready to go?”

Draco nodded. “Lead the way.”

Draco followed Harry up the marble staircase. They glanced at each other from time to time, sharing a nervous smile as they walked in amicable silence. A curious expression formed on Draco’s face and he asked, “Potter, have you brushed your hair?”

“No,” Harry lied quickly, running his hand through his unruly mop in a vain attempt to flatten it. Okay, so he might have borrowed Luna’s hairbrush during his last lesson of the day in the Herbology greenhouse (she’d offered to braid some moly flowers through his hair but he’d declined). He also may or may not have taken care to avoid eating anything garlicky during dinner, just in case...in case of what, exactly? They were just practising a scene together, he reminded himself. A kissing scene...well, the last thing that Harry needed was for Draco to complain about him having bad breath. In a foolish attempt to assure his breath was minty fresh, he’d made the mistake of shoving a handful of Pepper Imps into his mouth, forgetting that the confection made the consumer breathe fire. He’d then spent the duration of his meal with smoke wafting from his ears and nose but, thankfully, it had dissipated somewhat after he’d gulped down two large glasses of pumpkin juice.

Draco smirked and rolled his eyes. “Silly question. You never brush that bird’s nest of yours, do you?”

“I do try,” Harry protested. “My hair just seems to have a mind of its own. It’s always been like that. Once my aunt tried shaving it all off, but by the next morning it had grown back again.”

Draco snorted, “Okay, the only thing more ridiculous than your hair in its current state is picturing you bald.”

Harry grinned and punched Draco lightly on the arm. “Shut up about my hair, will you? I actually like it as it is.”

“Alright, I didn’t realise you were so sensitive about it,” Draco teased. “I suppose your hair isn’t all bad. The permanently unkempt aesthetic rather suits you.”

Harry grinned. “You think so?”

Draco shrugged. “Plus, the worse you look, the better I appear, so that’s always a bonus.”

“Oh, haha,” said Harry sarcastically.

They chatted as they climbed several flights of stairs. Harry, who was used to walking this route every day, couldn’t help but chuckle at how breathless Draco was getting. Draco grimaced and rubbed a stitch in his side after they reached the foot of the seventh flight of stairs.

“How much further do we have to walk?” he groaned. “I feel like we’ve walked the entire length of the castle.”

“Almost there.” Harry bounded up the last few steps towards the portrait of the Fat Lady, Draco following close behind, panting and grumbling under his breath. The Fat Lady’s eyes narrowed as she caught sight of Harry’s companion.

“Good evening,” she said slowly, eyeing Draco with suspicion. “Is he with you?”

“Yup,” Harry replied brightly. _“Mellita, domi adsum.”_

The Fat Lady cast the Slytherin interloper one last warning look before reluctantly granting them entrance. Harry had hoped that the common room would be deserted but while it was noticeably quieter than usual, a few other students had also opted to skip the show. Predictably, Draco drew a few curious glances from the other Gryffindors while Dennis Creevey, who sat in the far corner with a couple of friends, looked incensed at his appearance. Harry thought that perhaps bringing Draco here hadn’t been such a great idea after all. Rather than risk any arguments, he immediately beelined for the stairwell towards the boys’ dormitory.

Draco tutted, “More stairs?”

“Quit your whining, we’re almost there,” said Harry.

“You said that the last time,” he grumbled. “Your lot didn’t look very happy to see me.”

“How would the Slytherins react if I walked into your common room?” Harry countered. Draco huffed out a laugh.

“Fair point.”

When they reached the landing for the seventh years’ room, Draco leant against the wall to catch his breath and Harry stuck his head through the door first to check if the coast was clear. He was relieved to find the dormitory was empty, so he ushered Draco inside.

“What do you think?” Harry asked as he peeled off his heavy school robes and tossed them onto the chair beside his bed. Draco stood awkwardly by the door taking in his new and unfamiliar surroundings.

“It’s very...red,” he mused.

Harry snorted. “I appreciate that you’re trying to keep the insults to a minimum.”

“It’s taking all of my willpower not to say anything derogatory about the Chudley Cannons fanatic you share a room with,” he quipped, nodding towards Ron’s bed, which was clad in a bright orange bedspread.

“That’s my bed,” Harry deadpanned. He burst out laughing at the horrified expression on Draco’s face and flopped onto his own bed. “Don’t worry, I’m only taking the piss.”

“Thank Godric for that,” Draco muttered.

He stepped over to Harry’s bed and, after a moment’s hesitation, he let his bag slide off of his shoulder onto the floor and sat next to Harry, careful to maintain enough distance between them that they didn’t actually touch.

“You look nervous,” Draco observed.

“I’m not nervous,” Harry lied. He seemed to be doing an awful lot of that today. “Why? Are you nervous?”

“Of course not,” Draco rushed to deny. “It’s just acting, isn’t it?”

“Exactly,” said Harry uncertainly. “Just acting…”

There was an awkward silence before Harry cleared his throat and began to rummage through his school bag for his script.

“So, I’ve read over the scene a couple of times and from what I can gather, I gatecrash the Capulet party hoping to see Rosaline, but when I see you—well, when Romeo sees Juliet—I... _he_...falls in love with her.”

“How predictable,” Draco muttered, flicking through the pages of his own script to find the scene.

“Yeah, it’s pretty cheesy,” Harry laughed nervously. “Uh, okay. So it says here that I come up to you and touch your hand…”

“Oh. Okay.”

Draco couldn’t disguise the nervous note in his voice but he didn’t object to Harry’s suggestion. Ignoring the sound of his heartbeat thudding like a kettledrum in his ears, Harry tentatively reached out to touch Draco. Draco remained perfectly still as Harry brushed their fingers together, and Harry couldn’t help but notice how much softer Draco’s hands were compared to his own; years of doing the Dursley’s housework and gardening had left the tips of his fingers calloused but smooth. Harry moved a little closer to Draco until their thighs pressed together but Draco didn’t move away. Testing the waters, Harry slipped his hand into Draco’s and although Draco didn’t seem to dare look in his direction, his thumb brushed over the top of Harry’s hand. Slowly, Draco’s head tilted to the left towards Harry. His breaths were uneven, betraying his nerves, but slowly his face began to loom closer to Harry’s. Harry felt like his heart was beating so hard in his chest that it might leap out of his throat, but like a magnet he leaned forward, drawing ever closer to Draco’s mouth which was only inches away from his own now…

Suddenly Harry felt something soft and warm scurry over his hand and Draco snatched his hand away as though he had been electrified. Harry quickly withdrew his own hand in surprise, then looked down to find Asha sniffing interestedly around the front pocket of his trousers.

“Oh, for the love of—it’s that blasted rat again!” Draco cried, leaping to his feet.

“Asha!” Harry groaned, scooping the mischievous mustelid into his hands. “What are you playing at?” Asha squeaked in greeting and looked up expectantly at him. Harry sighed and removed a small biscuit from his pocket and gave it to her. “There. Happy now?”

The ferret squeaked in the affirmative and began nibbling on her treat. Harry opened the dormitory door and carefully sat the ferret onto the landing. “I’m too busy to play right now. Go explore for a bit and come back later.”

Asha squeaked again and hightailed it down the spiral staircase out of sight. Harry closed the door, hoping that would be their only interruption this evening. “Sorry about that.”

“You don’t have any more unpleasant surprises in store for me, do you?” asked Draco huffily. Harry sighed and picked his and Draco’s discarded scripts off of the floor.

“Maybe it would be easier if we stood,” he suggested, holding Draco’s script out to him. Draco pursed his lips and snatched the script from Harry’s hands.

“Fine,” he mumbled, opening his script. “Where were we?”

“We’ve just met and I’m trying to convince you to kiss me.” He cleared his throat and began to recite his lines, “If I profane with my unworthiest hand, this holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: my lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.”

Harry looked up expectantly at Draco to respond. Draco worried his bottom lip for a moment before he began to recite his lines as well. “Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much which mannerly devotion shows in this. For saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.”

“Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?” asked Harry.

“Ay, pilgrim,” Draco nodded. “Lips that they must use in prayer.”

“O, then, dear saint, let lips do what palms do,” Harry and Draco pressed their palms together. Harry was aware of how sweaty his palm was against Draco’s, whose skin felt warm and smooth against his own. Harry laced their fingers together and said a little hoarsely, “They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.”

“Saints do not move,” said Draco quietly, his eyes fixed on Harry’s lips, “though grant for prayers’ sake.”

Harry moved closer to Draco, pressing their chests together. He could feel Draco’s heart beating as hard and fast as his own. When he spoke again, he spoke slowly and with care, knowing what weight the words carried and what they’d have to do next.

“Then move not, while my prayer’s effect I take,” he whispered. “Thus my lips...by yours...my sin is purged.”

Harry hesitated and Draco looked expectantly at him.

“This is the part where you kiss me, Potter.”

“I know,” Harry mumbled. “I’m working up to that.”

“Well hurry up and get it over with,” said Draco. “The anticipation is killing me.”

Harry licked his lips but his mouth was suddenly parched. This was it. He’d thought about this moment long enough and now he was finally going to kiss Draco (while acting in a scene, he had to remind himself, but that did little to quieten his nerves). Steeling himself, Harry leant forward and pressed a chaste kiss to Draco’s lips and, oh Merlin, they were softer than he could ever have imagined. They stayed like that for a perfect moment before Harry pulled away, a dreamy expression on his face, but Draco looked unimpressed.

“What was that supposed to be?” he said accusingly.

Harry, who had only a moment before been floating on cloud nine, unceremoniously crashed back to reality. “What do you mean?”

“That was a terrible kiss,” Draco declared. Harry gaped at him.

“What was wrong with it?” he asked, dropping Draco’s hand. Draco scoffed and made a dismissive gesture.

“A peck on the lips? That’s how I would kiss my grandmother,” he said, sounding annoyed. “You’re supposed to be in love with me, for Salazar’s sake.”

“Are you being serious right now?” asked Harry incredulously.

“Of course I am, but I don’t think that you are,” said Draco hotly. “If you can’t convince me with that kiss, how are you supposed to convince an audience?”

“Well, how the hell am I supposed to do that?” asked Harry angrily.

“Kiss me like you mean it,” he challenged.

“But I _do_ mean it!” Harry countered.

“Then _act_ like it!” Draco jabbed Harry in the chest. “Kiss me like your life depends on it! Because if you don’t, we’re going to fail this class and we’ll both be up shit creek without a paddle!”

“Urgh, fine!” Draco’s eyes widened with shock as Harry grabbed his face and crushed their lips together in a messy, passionate kiss. Draco grunted as their teeth clicked together and they both grimaced in pain. When Harry pulled away, Draco rolled his eyes.

“Really Potter, if that’s the best you’ve got—”

Draco was cut off mid-sentence by Harry’s lips again. In truth, Harry had only kissed him this time because he wanted Draco to stop talking, but when Draco’s lips parted and Harry felt the flick of Draco’s tongue brush against his own lips, he couldn’t help the needy moan that was muffled by Draco’s mouth. Draco responded to this with surprising enthusiasm, bunching his fists in Harry’s shirt, pulling him closer to deepen the kiss. As Draco’s hot, wet tongue brushed against his own, Harry’s mind went blissfully blank. Draco had been right: that first kiss had been terrible. But this...Harry wasn’t able to put it into words, but that elusive ‘spark’ that everyone had talked about had suddenly hit Harry like the Hogwarts Express; the synapses in his brain were firing like a box of Wildfire Whiz-bangs and Harry couldn’t get enough of it.

They were both gasping into the kiss now, tongues exploring each other’s mouths as their hands explored each other’s bodies. Draco raked his fingers through Harry’s hair sending a pleasant shiver that shot down his spine straight to his groin. Without thinking, Harry jerked his hips forward and his breath hitched as he felt Draco’s erection brush against his thigh. Clearly, Draco wasn’t acting anymore either. But then, had they ever really been acting? Harry didn’t care enough to think about it in that moment. Instead, he slid his hands down the expanse of Draco’s back, cupping Draco’s arse and giving it a firm squeeze. Draco responded with a low groan and his grip in Harry’s hair tightened. The strength of Draco’s grip was bordering on painful but the line between pain and pleasure was blurred at the edges and all Harry wanted was for Draco to pull him closer, hold him tighter, kiss him harder.

When they finally pulled apart to catch their breath, they still clung to each other as though their lives depended on it, their lips ghosting over each other as they looked up into each other’s eyes for what felt like the first time. Harry had always thought Draco’s eyes were cold like slate, but this close, he could see that they were actually the colour of smoke: grey and full of heat with flecks of green around the edges of the pupil. Draco’s expression, which was normally a mask of indifference, had completely transformed and he looked relaxed, contented even, an easy smile on his bruised lips. Harry resisted the urge to kiss him again and instead, he asked, “How was that for a kiss?”

Draco laughed softly. “Better.”

He leaned forward to kiss Harry again but paused when he heard muffled voices coming from the stairwell. Harry and Draco leapt apart (and not a second too soon) as the dormitory door burst open and Ron came crashing into the room with Hermione in his arms, lips locked onto one another and completely oblivious to the other occupants in the room. Harry cleared his throat to get his best friends’ attention and they froze mid-step. Ron’s lips detached from Hermione’s mouth with a comically loud smack and he turned half-dazed to face Harry.

“Oh. Hi Harry, I didn’t know you were here,” he said sheepishly.

“I thought you two were going to the show,” said Harry. Hermione cast a sideways glance at Ron and blushed furiously.

“We were,” she said. “Only...well, since everyone else is at the show, Ron suggested that we take advantage of Gryffindor Tower being deserted, so we slipped away during the intermission. We didn’t realise that you were here, Harry...with Malfoy.”

Ron’s gaze fell on Draco and his eyes narrowed. “What are _you_ doing here?”

“Don’t worry, Weasley, I was just leaving,” said Draco, snatching his bag off of the floor and hurrying for the exit. Harry’s feelings of elation quickly evaporated and it took his legs a few moments to catch up to his brain before he ran to catch up with Draco.

“Draco, wait up!” he called out.

“Oh, it’s Draco now, is it?” Ron sneered but Harry ignored the jibe and slammed the dormitory door shut behind him, calling after Draco again.

“Malfoy, wait!” he shouted. “We haven’t finished practising our scene!”

Draco stopped dead in his tracks and turned to face Harry. “You want us to continue ‘practising our scene’ in front of your friends?”

“Umm...no.”

Draco smirked. “Thought not.”

Harry looked around to make sure that they were alone before he stepped closer to Draco and said quietly, “Since we got interrupted, we could always meet up another time and try again?”

Draco hesitated, “You want to keep practising with me?”

“Only if you do,” Harry replied quickly.

Draco gave Harry a searching look. Harry held his breath as Draco reached out, brushing his thumb against Harry’s cheek and threading his fingers through his hair, pulling him closer, and pressed their lips together in a soft kiss. It only lasted a moment, but Draco’s answer was clear. When he broke the kiss, Draco pulled his bag higher up on his shoulder and smiled at Harry.

“Everyone will be going to Hogsmeade tomorrow. We could meet after breakfast,” he offered. Unable to form any intelligible words in response, Harry nodded keenly. Draco’s smile broadened. “Great. It’s a date, then.”

Draco waved Harry off and sauntered down the spiral staircase with a definite spring in his step. Harry sat on one of the cold stone steps in the spiral stairwell, taking a moment to himself to try and process what the hell had just happened. He touched his lips with the tips of his fingers. He could still feel the ghost of Draco’s kiss there and a warm, pleasant sensation blossomed in the centre of his chest. Romeo spoke of purging sins with kisses, but after kissing Draco, Harry’s thoughts were more sinful than ever. Maybe they just hadn’t kissed enough, Harry reasoned with a wry smile. He supposed that there was no harm in kissing Draco a few more times just to be sure.


	19. Chapter 19

Myrtle gave Draco an expectant look. “So...how did it go?”

Draco smiled sheepishly and averted his gaze. Myrtle gasped and swooped towards him until she was only inches from his face, trying to catch his eye. “Did you kiss him?”

Draco’s smile widened and he nodded, prompting the overly theatrical spectre to squeal with excitement and soar into the air, doing a victory lap around her bathroom, whooping and hollering in celebration. Draco blushed furiously and told her half-heartedly to behave herself, but he couldn’t help the huge grin that now seemed to be permanently fixed to his face. After his Muggle Studies lesson had ended, Draco had headed straight to Myrtle’s bathroom in a mild panic about his planned rehearsal with Harry. Since Harry had been given an impromptu peek into Draco’s thoughts and feelings for him, Draco had spent the rest of the week avoiding him, too embarrassed to talk to him or even look him in the eye. But then Harry had suggested that they rehearse together—the kissing scene of all things—and Draco had dared to hope then that Harry might reciprocate his feelings. Afraid that he was misreading the signals Harry was giving him and in danger of completely ruining the tentative friendship that they had built, Draco had sought out his only friend for advice. Myrtle seemed certain that Harry’s feelings for Draco were mutual. She was so confident in her assertions that something would happen that she had insisted that he report back to her after meeting Harry to fill her in on the details.

Of course, Draco had no intention of going into the finer details of what had actually occurred, but he didn’t see any harm in letting her know that she had been right all along about Harry liking him too. Myrtle had already proved her worth as a friend, so he knew that he could trust her not to say anything about it to anyone else. Amusingly, Myrtle seemed more excited at the prospect of Harry and Draco being an item than Draco was and she proceeded to dance on the spot singing to herself.

“Draco and Harry, sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G…”

“Alright, that’s quite enough,” he chuckled but Myrtle ignored him and continued to belt out the next line of the song in a sing-song voice.

“First comes love, then comes marriage. Then comes a baby in a—”

“Steady on, Myrtle,” Draco cut in with an embarrassed laugh. “It was only a kiss, I doubt there are any marriage proposals on the horizon, let alone babies.”

Myrtle giggled maniacally and perched herself on top of her favourite cistern, looking fondly at Draco all misty-eyed with a goofy smile on her face. “I’m just so happy for you, Draco. Didn’t I tell you? You and Harry have been a long time coming!”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Yes, I suppose you did say that.”

“And now Harry’s finally sorted his act out and realised that too!” she continued cheerfully. “Honestly, I was beginning to worry that he’d never admit his feelings for you. Well, now we’ll have to start planning your first date!”

Draco’s smile fell. “My first date?”

“Yes Draco, your first date!” she said impatiently. “Now, I’m thinking you should take Harry to Madam Puddifoot’s, it’s a very popular haunt for couples, no pun intended. And we’ll need to find something appropriate for you to wear! Is Gladrags Wizardwear still in Hogsmeade? It’s been years since I’ve visited the village…”

As Myrtle continued to rhyme off a to-do list for Draco’s date, he felt an unpleasant sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Dates? Gifts? Public displays of affection? Kissing Harry was one thing, but everything else...well, he’d barely had time to process what had just happened, let alone consider doing any of that. Merlin, he hadn’t seriously believed Harry reciprocated his feelings until they had locked lips less than an hour ago. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to do those things with Harry—oh, there were a lot of things that he wanted to do with Harry. The fact that there was even the slightest possibility that they could have a relationship excited Draco, but he wasn’t stupid: being friends with Harry was already frowned upon by most people, so anything more than that would make his and Harry’s already troublesome lives all the more complicated.

It was hard enough being universally despised, having to put on a brave face every morning and endure the barrage of insults and dirty looks that followed him everywhere he went these days. It was exhausting pretending that he didn’t care about other people’s opinions because the truth was he cared very deeply. His father had raised him to always pay attention to what others said about him and to take care about the image that he projected: strength and authority, to never show fear or compassion because people would view them as weaknesses. In his father’s eyes, the very worst thing Draco could be is weak.

Draco knew that he was weak. He knew that he was unkind and insecure and entitled. He was unworthy of the affections of someone as good and kind as Harry—he knew it and the rest of the world would never let him forget it. Draco’s morose thoughts spiralled as Myrtle rambled on and he began to feel increasingly uncertain about his next planned meeting with Harry. Myrtle stopped talking abruptly as she saw the worried expression on Draco’s face.

“What’s the matter?” she asked. Draco gave a slight shrug.

“Nothing,” he mumbled.

“Then why do you look so sad all of a sudden?” she inquired. “I thought you would be happy.”

“I am happy. It’s just…” Draco sighed in resignation. “Well, he’s Harry Potter, isn’t he?”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” said Myrtle sarcastically. Draco drew her a withering look and continued.

“You know what I mean,” he said irritably. “I’m the antithesis of everything he is; Potter is the Gryffindor wunderkind, this beloved war hero with friends and a future. I’m just an ex-Death Eater, a Slytherin and a social pariah to boot.” He looked up at Myrtle with a forlorn expression. “We’re not exactly the most compatible pair, are we?”

“Well, clearly none of that bothers Harry,” she consoled. “You like him. He likes you...sounds like you’re pretty compatible to me.”

“Potter might not care about who I am but other people will,” he argued. “He gets enough flak just for being friends with me, can you imagine what people would say if they caught us canoodling?”

“What people?”

“Everyone: his friends, his fans,” Draco lowered his eyes and mumbled, “My parents…”

A look of understanding dawned on Myrtle’s translucent face. “Ah, so _that’s_ what’s bothering you.” She slid off of the cistern and hovered over to where Draco sat in one of the bathroom stalls, his head in his hands, looking miserable. She tried to give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, but of course, her hand went straight through Draco. He shivered involuntarily at her icy cold touch but he didn’t complain. He appreciated the kind gesture.

“I understand that your parents’ opinion matters to you, but wouldn’t they just be glad that you’re happy?” she asked gently. Draco gave a derisive snort.

“My happiness has always ranked fairly low on my parents’ list of priorities. It’s always been about doing what’s best for the family,” he said bitterly.

“Well, this wouldn’t be the first time you’ve done something your parents wouldn’t approve of,” she reminded him.

“Taking the Dark Mark and being tasked with assassinating the school Headmaster upon threat of death is hardly comparable to dating a bloke,” he replied flatly.

“Exactly!” she said brightly. “Your parents got over that little snafu with You-Know-Who, I’m sure they’ll get over you having a boyfriend.”

Draco huffed out a dry laugh and shook his head. Only Myrtle could describe the catalyst that started a war as a ‘little snafu’. He tried not to think about what his parents’ reaction would be to him having a boyfriend, never mind it being Harry Potter of all people. Not that Draco had ever made a secret of his sexuality—his friends had all teased him mercilessly when he’d crushed hard for Viktor Krum during their fourth year—but it was a subject that he had been careful to avoid with his parents. Sexual orientation wasn’t an issue in wider wizarding society, but among pure-blood families, there were certain social conventions to be met. There was an unspoken expectation that when the time came, Draco would do what was expected of him: settle down and marry a girl from a good pureblood family, and most importantly, produce an heir.

Of course, that was before the war and before everything had changed. Since his family’s fall from grace, prospective partners were suddenly very hard to come by, and Draco was quietly relieved that any chance of an arranged marriage now seemed to be permanently off of the table. That didn’t, however, mean that he could now take up with whoever he pleased; anyone he took home would be subject to harsh scrutiny from both of his parents. And therein lay another complication: if Harry’s relationship with Draco had been adversarial in the past, that paled in comparison to his dealings with Draco’s father. The hatred between the Potters and Malfoys made the feud between the Capulets and Montagues seem like a playground squabble by comparison.

“Introducing a boyfriend to my parents would be problematic enough,” said Draco glumly, “But it wasn’t so long ago that my father would have happily killed Potter if he’d had the chance. He isn’t likely to welcome him into the family with open arms any time soon.” He groaned in frustration and covered his face with his hands. “Urgh, why do I have to feel like this—about him of all people? Why do I make life so difficult for myself?”

Myrtle clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “Oh, here we go again. Honestly, you sound like a broken record.” She put the back of her hand on her forehead and said in a high-pitched, dramatic voice, “Why, oh why must I feel this way about Potter? He’s so handsome and kind but he hates me so! Potter can never know the way I feel about him! How can I temper this burning passion inside of me? Oh, how I looooove Harry Potter!”

Draco bunched his hands into fists and glared at Myrtle. “I do not sound like that!”

“Yes, you do,” she smirked. “I like you Draco, but you are prone to bouts of self-pity.”

“You’re one to talk,” he bit back. “You spend all of your time moping about this bathroom!”

“I’m _dead_. I’m allowed to be distressed about my predicament,” she said testily. “You, however, are very much alive, and your biggest complaint is that a boy that you like happens to like you back. Excuse me if I don’t have much sympathy for you.”

“It’s not that simple!” he snapped. “What if my parents find out?”

Myrtle gave a careless shrug. “You wouldn’t be the first person who dated someone their parents disapproved of. Really Draco, it’s about time you stopped worrying about what your parents think. The only person that is going to live your life is you: take control, make stupid mistakes, at least you’ll be able to say that they’re _your_ mistakes. And let’s be honest, if you cared so much about what your parents think then you wouldn’t have kissed Harry in the first place.”

Draco opened his mouth to argue but quickly closed it again when he couldn’t think of a counter-argument. He hated to admit it but Myrtle had a point.

“Take it from someone who knows,” she continued. “Life is too short to worry about what other people think about you. And it’s too damn short to deny yourself a chance of happiness.”

“But if people find out…” he argued weakly.

“So what if people find out?” she cried. “You-Know-Who threatened to kill you and your family and you survived that! Dating Harry Potter will be a walk in the park by comparison. Who knows? You might even enjoy yourself if you stop acting like such a worrywart all the time.”

Draco worried his lip. Myrtle made it sound so easy. He envied her confidence in him because he certainly didn’t feel it.

“I suppose you’re right,” he said uncertainly. “I mean, it’s not like I have to tell them about it, not now anyway. It’s not like Potter and I are officially dating or anything.”

Myrtle smiled approvingly. “Exactly! What mum and dad don’t know can’t hurt them, eh? So, when are you and Harry hooking up again?”

“Well, we’ve arranged to meet tomorrow morning for another rehearsal—”

“Tomorrow morning?” she exclaimed. “Merlin, he’s keen.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll agree that I’m excellent company,” he smirked.

“You have your moments,” she joked and a mischievous grin spread across her face. “So tell me, is Harry a good kisser? I bet he is!”

“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell,” he replied evasively, but his smile gave him away.

“That good, eh?” Myrtle sighed and looked wistful. “Fifty years surrounded by lovesick teenagers, watching romances blossom and fizzle out and bloom again. Most of the other ghosts complain about not being able to eat anymore—they miss the taste of food, the sensation of a full belly—but that’s not what I miss the most. I remember that feeling of butterflies in your stomach every time you lay eyes on that special someone. I miss the feeling of my heart racing in my chest if they caught my eye, and when they smiled it would fill you up like a hot drink. I’d give up an eternity walking this earth just to experience that feeling one more time.”

Draco felt a wave of sympathy for Myrtle then. He was all too familiar with the feelings that she was describing; he’d been struggling with them for a while now, had been tormented them every time he had been in Harry’s company. But he craved the feeling as much as it tormented him: the giddiness he felt any time Harry smiled at him. The way his breath would hitch the few times Harry had touched him. The exquisite sensation of Harry’s lips pressed against his own…

Draco was still afraid of other people judging him, but then when was he not afraid nowadays? Despite his fears, he knew that if he didn’t explore what he and Harry had—what they _could_ have—he’d always regret it. Draco had enough regrets in his life already, he didn’t want to add missing an opportunity like this to the pile. So the next morning, after Draco had finished his breakfast, rather than waiting for Harry in the Entrance Hall like before, he marched over to the Gryffindor table with an air of confidence that he didn’t actually feel. Well, if he didn’t feel brave, he could always try acting like he was. Ignoring the curious glances of the other Gryffindors, Draco came to a halt behind Harry. He still looked half-asleep as he gulped down his coffee, a half-eaten slice of jam toast on his plate.

Draco cleared his throat before speaking, “Morning, Potter.”

Harry choked on his drink and turned, surprised to find Draco looming over his shoulder with his usual haughty expression.

“Malfoy,” he croaked, quickly wiping away the coffee dribbling down his chin. “Um, good morning…”

“Are we still on for doing another rehearsal?”

“Uh, yeah. Definitely.” Harry nodded to the empty seat beside him. “I’ve almost finished my breakfast but do you want to sit down?”

Draco hadn’t expected the invitation to join them and neither had the other Gryffindors; Neville raised his eyebrows in surprise and Ron drew Harry an incredulous look and hissed “Are you serious?” but grimaced and shut his mouth when Ginny gave him a swift, sharp kick under the table. Draco supposed it was perfectly normal to invite friends to sit with you at breakfast and he and Harry were very publicly friends now—what else they may be was still up for debate and exploration after Harry had finished his toast. And if sitting at the table was going to annoy Weasley so much…

“Yes, I think I will join you,” Draco accepted politely. Harry smiled and turned to Ron.

“Budge up a bit,” he asked.

Ron looked like he wanted to argue but he pursed his lips and grudgingly shuffled a few inches to the right, followed by Harry, to create a space for Draco to sit. Draco sat down at the table with his hands by his sides, still feeling a little awkward at all of the eyes fixed on him. Still, he made the effort to turn to Ron and smirk.

“Thank you, Weasley,” he simpered.

Ron glared at him and took an aggressive bite from his breakfast roll. Hermione drew her boyfriend a quick warning look to keep his mouth shut before turning to Draco and giving him a polite smile.

“Congratulations on being cast as Juliet, Malfoy. I think you and Harry performed brilliantly during your audition,” she said sincerely.

“Yeah, you two put on quite a performance,” Ginny added, smirking at Harry who bowed his head, suddenly very interested in the contents of his plate.

Draco was taken aback at how amiable Hermione was being. He knew how to handle Ron and the others being snarky and defensive, but friendly was unfamiliar territory to him. He wondered if she had some ulterior motive for being so nice to him—it was no secret that she didn’t like him—but he couldn’t for the life of him think what that could be. Everyone at the table waited attentively for Draco to respond and he felt the heat rise in his cheeks under their scrutinising gaze.

“Thank you, Granger,” he replied, inclining his head towards her. “You also performed well in the audition.”

Draco felt like he was speaking a foreign language dishing out compliments so freely, but Hermione looked pleased nonetheless.

“Thank you!” she preened. “I will admit that I was disappointed that I wasn’t cast in one of the main roles, but Professor Tonks said that my excellent organisation skills would be put to better use elsewhere, so I’ve been appointed assistant director and treasurer.”

There was an audible groan when Hermione mentioned this. Ron rolled his eyes and Neville turned his attention back to his cereal. Evidently, she had already told the others about this and was happy to have someone new to share the good news with, even if that someone was Draco.

“Really?” he replied mildly. “Congratulations.”

“Yes, it’s quite a lot of responsibility but Professor Tonks thinks that I’ll manage...”

While Hermione chattered away about her ‘promotion’, Draco (and by the looks of it everyone else) quickly tuned out. Just as he was beginning to regret coming over here, he felt Harry’s hand brush against his own. He cast a furtive glance at Harry, whose attention was focused on his plate as he finished his breakfast, toast held in his right hand while his left one tentatively reached for Draco’s under the table. Draco’s heart thudded so hard in his chest he was surprised that nobody else could hear it. Slowly, Draco intertwined their fingers and Harry gave his hand a slight squeeze in response. If anyone walked past the Gryffindor table right then, they would see the two of them unmistakably holding hands, but all he could focus on was how warm and smooth Harry’s hand felt against his own. Okay, so secretly holding hands might not constitute a public display of affection in Myrtle’s book, but they were taking baby steps.

When Harry finished his breakfast, Draco reluctantly relinquished his grip on Harry’s hand and they got to their feet. Harry slipped Ron a fistful of Galleons, requesting that he pay a visit to Honeydukes in order to top up their dwindling supply of sugar quills and pumpkin pasties. Ron grunted in response but pocketed the money without complaint. Wishing his friends a fun day at Hogsmeade, Harry and Draco quickly left the Great Hall together, pointedly ignoring the inquiring eyes of his friends that followed them in their wake.

“Enjoy your rehearsal!” Ginny called after them. Draco glanced over his shoulder to see that she was smiling while the rest of the Gryffindors looked confused.

“What’s she so cheerful about?” he wondered aloud.

“Probably just glad to see you leave the Gryffindor table,” Harry quipped.

“Very funny, Potter,” said Draco flatly.

Harry grinned. “I know, I’m hilarious. So, where do you want to go? We can go back to Gryffindor Tower if you like?”

“Actually, I was wondering if you’d like to come to the Slytherin Dungeon this time?” Draco offered. Harry stopped walking and shot him a surprised look.

“Really?” he asked. “I thought it was forbidden to bring non-Slytherins to your dungeons.”

Draco smirked. “It is. Don’t tell me you’ve suddenly developed a conscience about breaking school rules?”

Harry snorted. “Hardly! But let's be honest, my being there isn't going to go down well with the other Slytherins, is it?”

“I’m already the most unpopular person in the school, Potter, I doubt bringing you into the dungeons will do much more damage to my already sullied reputation,” Draco pointed out.

Harry drew Draco that big goofy smile that always made his stomach do a small backflip. It was taking all of his willpower not to drag the gorgeous git into the nearest broom cupboard like a cave troll and have his way with him there and then.

“Well, I’m honoured that you’re willing to break a taboo on my account,” Harry preened.

“Don’t read too much into it, Potter. The Slytherin Dungeon is much closer and I don’t fancy climbing several flights of stairs again,” Draco reasoned. “Honestly, I don’t know how your lot do that every day; it felt like we were making our ascent to the Mountains of the Moon. Besides, most people will be out at Hogsmeade today, so we’ll probably have the dormitory to ourselves.”

“Oh?” said Harry interestedly. “For how long?”

“For as long as we need it,” said Draco casually. “Hopefully all day.”

Harry didn’t need any more persuading. Draco beckoned Harry to follow and led him through a door on the right side of the Entrance Hall, along the dungeon corridor and down the narrow, spiral staircase towards the Potions classroom. Draco cast Harry a curious look when, without prompting, he came to a full stop at the stretch of blank stone wall in front of the hidden entrance where the Slytherin dungeon was located.

“Have you been to the Slytherin dungeon before?” he asked suspiciously.

“No,” Harry replied a little too quickly.

Draco’s eyes narrowed. He was fairly sure that Harry was lying but he decided to drop his inquiries for the time being. Turning back to the blank wall, he said the password aloud.

_“Tabula rasa.”_

The stone door slid open and Draco marched inside, closely followed by Harry. Despite the common room being deserted, he headed straight for the nearby stairwell, which spiralled even deeper into the castle’s depths. Harry involuntarily shivered as they made their descent, their hot breaths misting in front of their faces on every exhale. When they finally reached the bottom of the stairwell, Draco pushed open the door to the seventh year boys’ dormitory. He paused mid-step when he realised that the room, unlike the rest of the dungeons, was not deserted. Theo sat cross-legged on his bed reading a book that had a picture of Gwenog Jones on the front cover. His head shot up when he heard the door open and his eyes narrowed when he saw Draco before widening when he caught sight of Harry.

“What’s _he_ doing here?” he asked accusingly.

“Potter and I are rehearsing our lines for the play,” Draco drawled as he stepped further into the room. “You’re welcome to join us if you like. How about we practice the scene where you two duel one another? I don’t think it ends so well for you, if I remember correctly.”

Draco knew that he shouldn’t be so antagonistic but he couldn’t help himself. Even though he hadn’t technically done anything wrong, he had still hoped that Theo would forgive him and that they would be on speaking terms by now. But Theo was famously stubborn and had pointedly ignored Draco for weeks now and his frustration finally got the better of him. The corners of Theo’s mouth turned down and he snapped his book shut. Draco focused on keeping his expression impassive and stood to his full height as his former friend kicked his legs off of his bed and approached him, shoulders squared and fists clenched.

“He’s not supposed to be here,” said Theo irritably. “You know that it’s against the rules.”

“We’re not supposed to do a lot of things,” Draco shot back lazily. “But if it bothers you that much, go tell Slughorn. I’m sure he’ll give the golden boy Potter a free pass.”

“Uh...maybe we should rehearse somewhere else,” Harry said carefully but his suggestion fell on deaf ears as the two Slytherins stood inches apart glaring at each other. The last thing that Draco wanted was to fight with Theo; he was an exceptional duellist for one thing and he didn’t want to get his arse handed to him in front of Harry. Unfortunately, the only other person that Theo currently disliked more than Draco was Harry Potter, so there was a high chance that wands would be drawn at any moment. This really wasn’t how Draco had planned on spending his weekend. Harry watched curiously as the two Slytherins stared each other down for a few tense moments before Theo turned to him.

“You’ve got a penchant for troublemakers, don’t you Potter?” he asked spitefully. Harry shrugged.

“Not particularly, but you know what they say,” he drew Draco a sly smirk. “Trouble always seems to find me.”

Theo huffed out a derisive laugh and drew Draco a disparaging look. “Well, then you’re certainly made for each other.”

“Are you staying or going, Nott?” asked Draco evenly. “Unlike you, I don’t have time to engage in a pointless staring contest.”

“I’m going,” he muttered, pushing past Draco towards the exit. “Just watch yourself with this one, Potter. He’s as trustworthy as his name suggests.”

The dormitory door slammed shut with a loud bang. Draco let out a breath he’d been holding and his shoulders sagged. Disaster averted. Harry cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Golden boy Potter?” he said flatly. Draco shrugged.

“Sorry about that. It was the quickest way of getting rid of him short of hexing him,” he explained. “I didn’t think he’d still be here. He usually goes to Hogsmeade with the others.”

“It’s alright.” Harry hesitated a moment before asking, “I take it that things between you two still aren’t great at the moment?”

“What on earth gave you that impression?” Draco replied sarcastically. Keen to steer the conversation away from his feud with Theo, he motioned for Harry to look at the dormitory. “So, what do you think?”

Harry stepped further into the room and took in his surroundings. The layout of the Slytherin dormitory was identical to the Gryffindor one: five four-posters clad in green silk hangings instead of red velvet. Silver lanterns hung from the ceiling while the walls were decorated with medieval tapestries depicting the adventures of famous Slytherins from years gone by. Harry peered out of the nearest window to the bottom of the Black Lake. Bottle green water lapped against the window as eerie dark figures swam by in the murky depths.

“It’s a bit draughty,” he said honestly.

“Yes, well...while it may lack some of the creature comforts Gryffindor Tower has to offer, I much prefer it here,” said Draco. “It reminds me of home.”

Harry cast a wary eye on a skull atop someone’s bedside table which had been fashioned into a macabre candle holder. “Yes, I can see why.”

Draco stood by Harry at the window and they both looked out into the bottom of the lake. “I know at first it seems a little cold and unwelcoming down here, but late at night when you’re lying in bed and all you can hear is the sound of the water lapping against the old stone walls of the castle, I think it’s quite peaceful.”

Harry turned to Draco and gave him a wicked grin, “Well, I’d have to spend the night before I could make my mind up about that one way or another.”

Draco smirked. “So you finally admit it: you enjoy getting into trouble.”

“Sometimes,” he relented. His gaze flicked towards Draco’s lips. “Nott was right about one thing, though: I do have a thing for troublemakers.”

The way Harry was looking at him made Draco’s heart beat faster, but a persistent, niggling doubt pushed to the forefront of his mind at those words and he wondered if this was the real reason why Harry was doing this: it was no secret that he was a thrill-seeker, seemingly addicted to drama and danger. Perhaps that was why Harry had kissed him the night before, why he had held his hand under the table at breakfast in plain view of anyone who walked past, why he was in the Slytherin dungeon now with Draco Malfoy of all people. Was he here because he really liked Draco or was it merely for the thrill of doing something forbidden?

Harry took a step closer to Draco and he felt a flutter of nerves assault him but he tried not to let his nervousness show in his face. He didn’t know why Harry was doing this or how seriously he felt about him, but in that moment, Draco didn’t much care what his intentions were. For now, it was just nice to want someone who wanted him too.

“Well,” he managed to murmur. “I guess that’s something we have in common.”

Harry’s expression grew serious as he slid his hands around Draco’s waist and Draco let himself be pulled closer. He held his breath as he watched Harry’s eyelids lower, his beautiful green eyes growing dark and full of want. The way that he was looking at Draco plucked at something deep in his stomach and he felt lightheaded all of a sudden. He stood transfixed as Harry swallowed hard and his lips parted, drawing closer...

All of Draco’s trepidations fled him as Harry closed the distance between them. The kiss started tentative and nervous, as though Harry still wasn’t sure if he was even allowed to kiss Draco. His soft, warm lips pressed against Draco’s for a long moment before he opened his mouth and the wet, slow drag of their lips against each other sent a pleasant shiver up Draco’s spine. Draco groaned as he felt Harry’s silken tongue brush against his own and Harry pulled him closer, kissed him deeper. The chaste, sweet kiss quickly grew more heated as Draco raked his fingernails across Harry’s scalp and fisted his hair, feeling a hot spark of pleasure bloom inside of him at the needy moan spilling from Harry’s lips. Harry slid his hands over Draco’s arse, gave it a firm squeeze, then pressed their hips together and Draco savoured the delicious friction of their erections rubbing against one another, but it wasn’t enough.

Without breaking their kiss, Draco walked Harry backwards and pushed him onto his bed. Harry bounced onto the mattress and stared wide-eyed as Draco climbed onto his lap and leant down to kiss him again, Harry rising up to meet him halfway. He fleetingly wondered what would happen if Theo or one of the other boys walked into the dormitory at that moment and he was caught straddling Harry’s lap, but he found that he couldn’t care less. He wanted this. He wanted Harry. And by some miracle, for whatever reason, Harry wanted him too.

Draco’s heart rate spiked as he felt Harry’s fingers slip under his shirt and ghost across the bare flesh of his stomach, making his skin tingle before he gave Draco’s belt an experimental tug. Draco quickly rolled off of Harry’s lap and flopped onto his back, his hands shaking a little as he desperately pulled at his belt buckle to undo his trousers. Harry watched him for a moment before deciding to do the same and fought with his own belt and zipper. Everything seemed to move in a blur as they groped and kissed, pulling at each other’s clothes, their hands fumbling as they tugged their trousers and boxers past their hips. Draco just about lost his mind when Harry’s hand slipped between his legs, the tips of his smooth, calloused fingers brushing against his achingly hard erection. When Harry’s fingers closed around the base of his cock, Draco moaned and clamped his eyes shut as he pressed his head against Harry’s shoulder, breathing hard. The feeling of another person’s hand, Harry’s hand, on such an intimate, sensitive part of his body was overwhelming.

Draco groped blindly, running his hand up Harry’s inner thigh before wrapping his fingers around Harry’s thick, hard cock and giving it an experimental squeeze. Harry’s response was immediate: groaning with unbridled pleasure he thrust his hips forward into Draco’s tight fist while Draco swallowed his low moan with another searing kiss. Their movements were clumsy and uncoordinated at first, but soon they found their rhythm, pumping each other’s cocks in sync as their lips ghosted over each other, panting and moaning into each other’s mouths, pushing and pulling each other closer and closer to climax. As Draco quickly tumbled towards the point of no return, the rest of the world around him seemed to disappear. All he could think about, all he wanted to feel, was Harry’s hand stroking his cock; Harry’s hot, panting breaths against his skin; the delectable, mewling noises Harry was making…Draco was completely lost in him, willingly consumed by the feel of him beneath his fingers and lips and tongue. This was bliss. This was heaven. He didn’t deserve it, but he didn’t care, he just needed this so badly... to feel wanted... to feel Harry.

“H-Harry,” he stammered. “Slow down, I’m gonna…”

“I want to see,” Harry pleaded, dragging the flat of his tongue over the shell of Draco’s ear. “Want to make you come so hard.”

That was enough to push Draco over the edge.

The orgasm that hit Draco stuck him like a lightning bolt, whiting out his vision. All he could hear was the pulse of his heartbeat in his ears as his cock pulsed hot streaks of come across Harry’s hand and stomach. He experienced another surge of pleasure a few moments later as he heard Harry’s breath catch and felt the wet heat of Harry’s climax coat his fingers. Harry had his face buried into Draco’s shoulder, biting back a moan as Draco slowly milked his spent cock, eking out the last bit of pleasure before Harry lazily brushed his hand away when even those soft ministrations became too much. It took them some time to come down from their dizzying post-coital high, their chests heaving as they lay tangled in each other’s arms, sated, sticky and exhausted.

“Wow,” Harry sighed. Draco turned to look at him and couldn’t help but smirk at the dreamy expression on Harry’s face. “I mean...that was…”

“A very good rehearsal,” he joked. Harry huffed out a tired laugh, turned and threw an arm across Draco’s waist, pulling him closer. Draco raised his eyebrows in surprise as Harry nuzzled into his neck, sighing contentedly.

“I never pegged you as the cuddling type,” he mused. Harry’s body tensed but he didn’t move away.

“Is that a bad thing?” he asked cautiously. Draco shook his head.

“No. Just...unexpected.” Draco thought for a moment before deciding that he wanted to put his arm around Harry’s shoulder. He smiled to himself as he felt the tension in Harry’s body ease again. This, as with everything that involved Harry, was unexpectedly nice. The few dalliances he’d had in the past (which consisted of hooking up with one of the boys from Beauxbatons and an ill-advised evening with Cassius Warrington a couple of summers back) had been short, intense and ultimately impersonal experiences. Nobody had ever wanted to cuddle him afterwards. Draco thought that he wouldn’t like it—he wasn’t the most overtly affectionate person at the best of times—but feeling Harry’s warm body pressed against his own, his annoyingly wild hair tickling his cheek, Draco thought it felt...good. Enjoyable, even.

As pleasant as it was having Harry wrapped in his arms, lying in his own sweat and semen was not pleasant in the slightest. After a few more minutes of cuddling, Draco was starting to get cold and he reluctantly released Harry from his embrace. Harry pushed himself up onto his elbows and watched as Draco scoured the floor for his discarded wand which had rolled under his bed, wordlessly cast a cleaning charm on both of them and started getting redressed.

“What’s the rush?” he asked.

“Well, as much as I enjoy seeing you in your debauched state, eventually someone is going to come back,” said Draco matter-of-factly, adjusting his belt buckle. “So, unless you want anyone else to see you lying there with your dick out, I suggest that you get dressed.”

Harry glanced down at his dishevelled appearance and blushed: his trousers and boxers were pooled at his ankles and his shirt was half-buttoned and hanging limp off of his shoulders. Draco rather liked the way Harry looked and was a little disappointed when he heeded his warning about unwelcome visitors and quickly got dressed. Draco checked his appearance in the vanity mirror on his bedside table and ran his fingers through his hair before clambering back onto his bed, resting his back against the wooden bedframe. He watched in silence as Harry buttoned his shirt and brushed down his trousers. He was quietly pleased that Harry hadn’t even bothered trying to fix his hair, which was currently sticking up in all directions; the just-shagged look rather suited him. Harry climbed up on the bed to sit next to Draco and gave him a nervous smile.

“Well…that was fun.”

Draco smirked. “Better than a kick in the teeth.”

“Yeah, I won’t argue with that.” Harry looked expectantly at Draco. “So...what do we do now?”

Grabbing the play script from his bedside table, Draco settled himself back to read his lines. “Now,” he sighed, flicking through the pages. “We rehearse. Where did we get to yesterday?”

“Are you actually going to rehearse?” asked Harry, sounding a little disappointed. Draco lowered his script and drew him a withering look.

“Of course we’re going to rehearse! I know that you’re a bit slow to pick things up but don’t you think it would look a bit odd if we spent the whole day together and you didn’t manage to learn anything?”

“I suppose you’re right,” Harry mumbled. “Can I read off of your script?”

“Didn’t you bring your own?”

“Well...no,” Harry admitted, looking sheepish. “When you invited me to rehearse with you I thought that you meant…you know.”

Draco rolled his eyes and held the script out for Harry to share with him. Harry beamed at him and smacked an affectionate kiss on his cheek before resting his head on Draco’s shoulder and settling down to rehearse the scene properly this time. Draco’s cheek burned from where Harry had kissed him and he couldn’t help the pleased smile that spread across his face. Things at Hogwarts might not be easy but he could definitely get used to this.

“Should we start by rehearsing the kissing scene again?” Harry chanced. Draco gave a dramatic sigh but quickly tossed the script aside. They still had all day to rehearse, he reasoned.

“If you insist,” he drawled, pulling Harry in for another kiss.


	20. Chapter 20

After their explosive rehearsal in the Slytherin boys’ dormitory, Harry and Draco quickly fell into a routine. Once lessons had finished for the day, they would have their dinner—usually with Draco sitting at the Gryffindor table, much to Ron’s ire—before excusing themselves for their evening ‘rehearsals’, which usually involved heavy petting and sometimes actually practising their lines. They practised wherever they could without interruption; their respective dormitories, abandoned classrooms, and the odd broom cupboard came in handy for their liaisons. They even fulfilled one of Harry’s fantasies by christening the Quidditch locker rooms before McGonagall and the other members of staff focused their efforts on making round the clock repairs to the ruined stadium, making it impossible for them to hook up there again.

Of course, sneaking around the school snogging his secret beau wasn’t without its risks. There had been a couple of close calls when Harry and Draco had almost been caught in the act; one evening, after sneaking away from their study group, they had found a dark, seldom-visited corner of the library for themselves, thinking surely nobody was likely to stumble upon them in the Muggle poetry section. Typically, they had been interrupted mid-kiss when they heard approaching footsteps and barely threw the Invisibility Cloak over their heads in time when Madam Pince came into view, replacing books on the dusty shelves before moving on a few moments later.

Harry was loath to admit that the risk of getting caught wrapped up in Draco Malfoy’s arms by an unsuspecting passerby did give him quite a thrill. The school year had been, for the first time since he had become a student at the renowned institution, extremely dull and uneventful. Not that he missed being in constant peril, but without even Quidditch to distract him from the monotony of lessons and homework, he had to find other ways of keeping the blood pumping and Draco was certainly more than capable of doing that.

After another successful ‘rehearsal’, Harry collapsed back onto his bed with a satisfied sigh, savouring the post-orgasmic afterglow as he slowly got his breath back. Draco lay sprawled by his side, eyes closed and panting and Harry thought he’d never seen anything more gorgeous and more fuckable in his life. He leaned over and nuzzled the crook of Draco’s neck, peppering his soft skin with featherlight kisses. Draco hummed in satisfaction and teased Harry’s hair between his fingers, his expression one of contentment.

“We really should practice some of our lines,” he murmured eventually and Harry groaned in protest.

“In a minute,” he said sleepily, his hand playing with the buttons of Draco’s shirt. “I think I might be ready for round two.”

Draco humphed out a laugh and pushed Harry’s hand away. “You really do have the libido of a jackrabbit, don’t you?”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Harry pouted. “It’s your fault, really. Every time you do that little twisty movement with your wrist, I just about lose my damn mind.”

Draco quirked an amused eyebrow at him. “Really? I’ll keep that in mind for the future.”

He pressed a quick kiss to the crown of Harry’s head before wriggling free from his grasp and scooped his discarded trousers from the floor. Harry watched Draco get re-dressed, knowing that he should probably do the same but making no effort to move. Draco spent an inordinate amount of time fixing his belt buckle, his expression suddenly serious as he avoided Harry’s watchful eye.

“Tell me something,” he began. “What happened between you and Ginny?”

Harry was surprised at the directness of the question. They hadn’t talked much about the particulars of their own relationship, let alone previous ones. He could tell Draco was trying to sound as casual as possible but he couldn’t disguise the tense note in his voice. Clearly, it was something that had been on Draco’s mind a lot if he was bringing it up now. Harry sat upright and pulled his quilt cover over his lap as it felt a tad indecent to talk to Draco about his ex-girlfriend with his wilting erection on full display.

“Umm...how do you mean?”

Draco still wouldn’t meet Harry’s gaze, straightening the sleeves of his shirt and fiddling with his cufflinks as he spoke. “What I mean is, you two were pretty loved-up for a long time and then all of a sudden you weren’t. I’m just curious what happened.”

Harry gave a careless shrug. “There’s not much to tell, really. We realised that we weren’t compatible so we broke up, but we stayed friends. That’s about it.”

A slight frown creased Draco’s forehead. “So, when you say that you weren’t compatible, I take that this incompatibility was sexual in nature?”

Harry felt the heat rise in his cheeks. “Uh, yeah. I suppose so…”

“You’ve only ever dated women before, am I right?” asked Draco evenly, checking his reflection in the nearby window since Harry didn’t own a vanity mirror.

“Yeah, what of it?” he replied a little defensively. Draco finally turned to face him, his face deliberately set in an unreadable expression.

“Honestly? I never would have guessed that you were that way inclined until you started sucking my face off like a limpet.”

“I did not suck your face off!” Harry protested, tossing one of his pillows at Draco. “And even if I did, I didn’t hear you complaining.”

Draco caught the pillow in mid-air and smirked at Harry. “Well, you’ve certainly improved with practice, I’ll give you that much.” His smile faltered and he bowed his head. “As someone who hasn’t shown any previous inclinations towards anyone else of the same sex before now, I'm just curious when you realised that you preferred the company of men.”

“When did I realise that I was gay?” Draco nodded and Harry thought about it for a moment. “It's hard to say. I guess it's something that's always been in the back of my mind but I've only really given serious consideration to it in the last few months: when your life is in constant peril, sex ranks fairly low on your list of priorities.”

“Agreed,” muttered Draco darkly and Harry gave him a weak smile. He supposed Draco knew all too well what that was like.

“Other than a couple of crushes, I’ve never really had strong feelings for anyone before. I mean, I love Ginny”—Draco’s jaw tensed when Harry said that—“but as she pointed out, there’s a big difference between loving someone and being in love with them. It quickly became clear that was the case for me. I love Ginny, but more like a sister than anything else.”

Draco sat next to Harry, hugging the pillow to his chest. “So this is all pretty new to you?”

“Pretty much,” he sighed. “I mean, I’ve had crushes on guys before but it wasn’t something that I ever planned on acting on.” Seeing the confused expression on Draco’s face, Harry explained, “Being gay in the Muggle world isn’t exactly universally accepted.”

Draco frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Well, homosexuality was only legalised fairly recently, for starters…”

Harry went on to give a brief explanation of attitudes and laws in British Muggle society to Draco, who looked increasingly horrified with each revelation. Upon hearing that homosexuality used to be a criminal offence, Draco shook his head in disgust.

“Well this simply goes to prove what I’ve always said: Muggles are a barbaric bunch,” he declared.

“Muggles aren't all bad, and things have gotten a lot better in recent years,” Harry argued but Draco was having none of it.

"You can’t help the way that you’re born. Why should you be treated differently over something that you have no control over?” he raged.

“You mean like the way Muggle-borns are treated differently by some pure-bloods?” said Harry coolly. Draco blanched and stuttered.

“No. That’s…”

Harry was fairly certain that Draco had been about to argue “that’s different”, but he stopped speaking abruptly and averted his gaze, looking a little embarrassed. Normally, Harry would have jumped at the chance to point out Draco’s hypocrisy but evidently, he had realised it himself. Harry cleared his throat and continued.

“Being a wizard in the Muggle world was difficult enough already without my sexuality complicating matters further. I didn’t want to give my aunt and uncle another reason to hate me more than they already did, so I kept my thoughts and feelings to myself.”

“Someone hated you more than I did? I didn’t think that was possible,” Draco joked.

“You never met my aunt and uncle,” said Harry with a wry smile. “It was safer just to ignore my feelings, I suppose, than to think about what they really meant. But Ginny explained that things are different in the magical world, that people are more accepting of that sort of thing. I think that’s going to take me some time getting used to, though. I’ve spent so long trying to hide who I really am that it’s become second nature, of sorts.”

Draco worried his lip in silent contemplation for a few moments before admitting quietly, “I'll admit that I have some idea what that feels like. While it’s true that being gay in the magical world is largely accepted, being an unmarried pure-blood with no heirs is still frowned upon.”

Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Really? What did your parents say when you told them that you were gay?” When Draco didn’t answer, a look of understanding dawned on Harry’s face. “You haven’t told them, have you?”

“Not exactly,” he said, squeezing the pillow a little tighter. “You must understand, there are so few pure-bloods left, there’s extra pressure on the last of us to get married and have children, to keep the bloodlines alive and whatnot.”

A heavy weight seemed to rest in the pit of Harry’s stomach then. “So...does that mean that you’re going to get married regardless?”

Draco let out a derisive snort and some of the tension in his shoulders eased. “Not bloody likely. I'm the social pariah of the magical world, remember? Even if I am wealthy, suitresses are hardly lining up to marry a gay ex-Death Eater. Which suits me just fine, I’m not the marrying type, anyway.”

Harry was privately relieved to hear this. “Do you think you’ll ever tell your parents?”

“I will eventually,” he said, tossing the pillow back onto the bed. “I’m not ashamed of who I am, but the less they know, the better. Things are complicated enough with my parents at the moment, it would be better to wait until after I’ve graduated and moved out of the Manor before I speak to them about it. What about you? Do Weasley and Granger know?”

Harry’s stomach twinged as he thought of his friends and he shook his head. “Ginny’s the only one who knows. And you, obviously.”

Despite feeling the happiest he had felt in as long as he could remember, Harry couldn’t help but feel guilty about keeping such a big secret from Ron and Hermione. They had been to hell and back with Harry, seen him at his very best and worst. They were a constant source of strength and support for him throughout the years and he was repaying them by lying to them about his relationship with Draco. The more he thought about it, the more his guilt ate away at him.

"And you trust Ginny not to say anything?" asked Draco, interrupting Harry’s morose train of thought.

"With my life," he declared with confidence.

"When will you tell Weasley and Granger?" he asked.

“Soon,” said Harry. “I’m just trying to find the right moment, you know? Ron still has it in his head that Ginny and I are going to get back together.” Seeing alarm flash across Draco’s face, Harry reassured him, “That’s never going to happen.”

“Really?” asked Draco uncertainly.

“Really,” he grinned mischievously at Draco. “I’m actually seeing someone at the moment, if you must know.”

Draco smirked. “Oh? Anyone that I know?”

“Maybe,” Harry wrapped his arm around Draco’s waist and pulled him closer. “Know any hot blondes that run their mouths all the time?"

Draco’s smile broadened. “No, but he must be pretty special to put up with your nonsense.”

Harry’s smile softened and he pressed their foreheads together. “Yeah, he is pretty special, actually.”

He pressed a soft kiss to Draco's lips which Draco briefly returned before pulling back. "When you do decide to tell your friends...will you tell them about me?”

Draco’s expression was conflicted and Harry felt a wave of sympathy for him at that moment. As much as Harry hated keeping secrets from his friends, he knew how gossip could spread like wildfire; if anyone found out about him and Draco, Draco’s parents would surely learn about them soon after. Given what he knew of the Malfoys, Harry didn’t think their reaction to their son being gay and in a relationship with Harry Potter would be viewed favourably.

Harry was going to come out to his friends when he felt ready to do so. Draco ought to be accorded the same right to come out to his parents when he felt ready, too. He wasn’t going to begrudge Draco wanting to keep his sexuality and—by extension—their relationship private. And if Harry were being completely honest with himself, the idea of having some semblance of a private life was more than appealing to him. Up until this point, everything in his life had been reported, documented and scrutinised at such length that he wouldn’t be surprised if the cover page of the Daily Prophet one of these days was a play-by-play analysis of his latest bowel movement. It was nice keeping something in his life just to himself for a change—something special, something only for him and Draco.

“I would like to, but I’ll only tell them when you feel ready for them to know,” Harry assured him.

Draco hesitated. “So you’re okay keeping things just between the two of us for the time being?”

“And Ginny,” Harry reminded him.

“...And Myrtle," Draco added quietly.

“Myrtle?” Harry spluttered. “How did she find out?”

“I told her. Don't pull that face, she can be very discreet when she wants to be,” he said briskly.

“If you say so.” Harry looked sincerely at Draco. “As far as I’m concerned, what we do is nobody else’s business but ours. Let’s work things out for ourselves first before posting a public announcement on the school notice board.”

Relief and gratitude flickered across Draco’s face and he leant forward, kissing Harry deeply. The tenderness behind the kiss took Harry aback and he felt the ache of affection deep inside his chest intensify. He felt like there was more to this kiss than simple sexual attraction, something deeper that he couldn’t quite put into words yet. Rather than overanalysing the moment, he just went with the flow; he lay back onto the bed and pulled Draco on top of him, both of them pulling at his belt buckle and zipper. Evidently, there was going to be a round two, after all.

Of course, the increased amount of time Harry and Draco were spending together hadn’t gone unnoticed by Harry’s friends. As Draco took his now-usual seat next to him at the Gryffindor table for breakfast, Hermione listened with interest as the two boys began making arrangements for where they were going to rehearse later that evening.

“That’s almost every night you two have arranged to rehearse together,” she said suspiciously. “You’ve certainly become much more studious of late, Harry.”

“Maybe he just finally found the right study partner,” Ginny suggested innocently, grinning into her goblet as she took a swig of juice. Draco smirked at her.

“It probably helps that he’s finally found something that sparks his interests,” he said smoothly, giving the top of Harry’s thigh a tight squeeze under the table. “You’re a fast learner, aren’t you, Potter?”

Harry paused eating his breakfast and Ginny choked on her orange juice. While Hermione patted Ginny gingerly on the back, Ron looked perplexed at the exchange between Draco and his sister.

“Fast at learning what?” he asked, confused.

“My lines,” said Harry quickly, grabbing Draco’s hand in an effort to stop his wandering fingers in their tracks. “I-I’m fast at learning my lines.”

“Well then today’s rehearsal should be very interesting,” said Ginny conversationally. “We’ll be doing our first run-through of the Capulet’s Ball scene. Isn’t that when you and Malfoy kiss for the first time?”

“Is it?” said Harry as casually as possible, knowing perfectly well that was the scene they would be rehearsing today; he’d spent the previous evening tossing and turning in his sleep at the prospect of kissing Draco in front of everyone.

“How are you both feeling about it?” Hermione asked Harry and Draco gently.

“Fine,” Harry lied. “It’s just acting, isn’t it?”

“Whatever you say, Romeo,” Ginny muttered under her breath.

Before Harry could respond to Ginny’s sly remark, silence fell over the Great Hall and he turned his attention towards the staff table to see Professor McGonagall standing, waiting patiently for the chatter to die away before addressing the students.

“Good morning, everyone,” she greeted them in her usual clear, brisk tone. “Before you depart for your first lessons of the day, Professor Tonks has a very special announcement to make.”

She turned to Liv and gave her a quick nod and took her seat again. Liv leapt to her feet so fast that she knocked over a goblet of pumpkin juice in the process. Cursing under her breath, Hestia and Professor Slughorn helped her mop up the mess with tissues before she straightened her robes and smiled sheepishly at the students.

“Thank you, Headmistress. Good morning, everyone! I know you’ve all got a busy day ahead, so I’ll make this quick. As I’m sure most of you will be aware, Halloween is fast approaching. It is an important festival for both wizards and Muggles alike, and festivities will take place on All Hallow’s Eve, as they do every year. However, this year we’ve decided to do things a little bit differently. Instead of having the traditional feast, we will be having a costume party!”

Liv’s smile broadened as an excited murmur spread throughout the crowd and she continued. “Since we’ve been learning about Muggle society and culture this semester, that will be the theme of this year’s costume party: famous Muggles! Whether it be real people or famous characters from Muggle literature, this is an opportunity to show what we’ve learned so far this year, and to show our appreciation and admiration for our Muggle brethren. There will be Muggle-themed party games as well—bobbing for apples, wrap the mummy, and a graveyard scavenger hunt—and, of course, a prize for best costume! Further information about the festivities will be posted to the notice boards in each house. If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to contact myself or Miss Jones. Thank you!”

As the students filed out of the Great Hall to attend their first lessons of the day, many of them were chatting excitedly about the party, already brainstorming ideas for costumes.

“We’ll need to do a couples costume, Ron!” said Hermione excitedly, hooking their arms together. “Maybe something historical. Oh! We could dress up as Shakespearean characters! Titania and Oberon, perhaps?”

“Will I have to wear tights?” asked Ron.

“No.”

“Then count me in!” Ron declared cheerfully. Hermione beamed at him.

“Excellent! I know that Gladrags in Hogsmeade sell Halloween costumes every year but they’re normally magical. I’m not sure where we’ll find Muggle clothes,” she mused. “Oh, what if they don’t have what we’re looking for?”

“Yes, it is quite a pickle we’re in,” said Draco sarcastically. “If only there was some way we could transfigure out clothes to look the way we want them to—using magic, perhaps?”

Hermione tutted and rolled her eyes. “Oh, ha ha.”

“Okay, this weekend we’ll go to Hogsmeade and see what we can find,” Harry suggested. Ron and Hermione agreed and he turned to Draco. “Fancy joining us?”

“I suppose I better,” he sighed. “I’ll admit that my grasp of Muggle cultural references is fairly limited. I might need your assistance on this one.”

"Are you really going to dress up as a Muggle?" asked Ron, earning a cocked eyebrow from Draco.

"You seem surprised, Weasley."

"I am," he admitted. "Considering how much you've always hated them. Now you're acting in Muggles plays and talking about wearing their clothes. It's weird."

"Well, I think it shows a lot of personal growth on your part, Malfoy," Hermione offered kindly.

"Thank you, Granger, I appreciate that someone's taken notice of that," he simpered before addressing Ron. "If you cared to take the time to get to know me a little better, you'd find that I'm really quite pleasant company."

"I'd rather not," Ron replied coolly. Draco, however, didn't look ruffled by Ron's icy attitude. He merely gave a careless shrug.

"Suit yourself," he drawled. "It's your loss."

As Harry and his friends made their way up the Grand Staircase towards the Room of Requirement for their morning rehearsal, he could feel the butterflies in his stomach intensify with each step. Evidently, worry was written all over his face because Draco lightly touched him on the elbow and leant forward to whisper in his ear.

“You look really nervous,” he said quietly enough so nobody else could hear.

“And you aren’t?” Harry replied. Draco shrugged.

“Not particularly.” A sly grin spread across his face. “Don’t tell me that you can’t remember your lines? We’ve practised the scene enough times.”

“I remember my lines just fine,” said Harry. “That’s not what I’m worried about.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Harry double checked nobody was listening to their conversation before answering, “I’m worried that our acting might be a little too convincing, if you catch my drift.”

Draco snorted. “It’s in the script, Harry. Unless you pop a boner during our kissing scene, I doubt anyone will think anything of it.”

“Oh Merlin, I didn’t even think about that,” said Harry worriedly. Draco laughed and Harry glared at him. “This isn’t funny, Draco!”

“It is a little bit,” he argued, grinning broadly. “And if you _do_ get hard kissing me, I’m going to take it as a compliment.”

“I should have known better than to expect any sympathy from you,” Harry muttered. Draco’s amused smile fell and he nudged Harry in the ribs.

“Well, this is an interesting development, isn’t it?” he whispered.

Curious as to what he was talking about, Harry followed Draco’s line of sight and, to his surprise, he spotted Theo walking side by side with Ginny. The unlikely pairing didn’t go unnoticed by Ron, either. He glowered as his sister chatted animatedly to Theo while he smiled warmly at her and nodded in agreement with whatever she was saying.

“Since when have Nott and Ginny been friends?” he said testily, falling into step with Harry and Draco.

Harry shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe they’re talking about the play, they’ve got a few scenes together, don’t they?”

Just then, Ginny’s raucous laughter filled the busy corridor and she lightly slapped Theo on the chest. Theo’s face broke out into a goofy grin and Ron’s scowl deepened.

“I don’t like the look of this,” he grumbled.

“What? You don’t like Gryffindors making friends with Slytherins?” Draco teased.

“He’s got more than friendship on his mind,” he said darkly. “You better have a word with your mate about this.”

“He’s no friend of mine,” Draco argued. “And even if he was, what would you expect me to say to him?”

“That my sister is out-of-bounds.”

Draco snorted. “I think that whomever your sister chooses to talk to is entirely up to her, Weasley.”

“Like hell it is,” Ron muttered before suddenly yelping in pain as Hermione struck him on the arm with one of her heavy school books. “Ouch! Bloody hell, what was that for?”

“Ronald Weasley, we have been over this before,” she hissed. “You will not meddle in your sister’s love life!”

“But she’s talking to Nott!” he protested.

“And? Ginny’s a grown woman, she can talk to whomever she likes!”

Ron gaped at Hermione before turning to his best friend for support, “Harry, help me out here.”

But Harry shook his head, “Sorry mate, I’m with Hermione on this one.”

“I don’t believe this,” Ron despaired. “First you two make friends and now this! What next? Actually, don’t answer that, I don’t want to know.”

Draco and Harry glanced nervously at one another but didn’t answer. Perhaps it was best that they kept the recent development in their relationship to themselves for the time being. As the students entered the Room of Requirement and assembled in front of the stage, Liv stood in front of them with Hermione, clearly relishing her role as assistant director, by her side.

“Alright, everyone!” she said clapping her hands together. “Today we’re going to rehearse one of the most important scenes in the whole play—when our star-crossed lovers meet for the very first time!”

Ginny nudged Harry and winked licentiously at him while a few of the other girls giggled. Harry wished the ground would open him up and swallow him whole.

“There will be a choreographed dance scene for the Masquerade Ball but we won’t begin learning that for another few weeks yet, so for now, we’ll begin with Lord Capulet’s speech and move straight onto Romeo and Juliet’s first meeting,” she instructed. “Mr Corner, if you could come centre stage, please. Everyone else, take positions. Any questions? No? Brilliant. Let’s get started, shall we?”

The students quickly dispersed and took their positions while Liv and Hermione took their seats at the front of the stage on their directors’ chairs. Hermione was shuffling through her already extensive script notes, making suggestions to Liv while Michael Corner approached the front of the stage, cleared his throat, and began to recite his speech. “Welcome, gentlemen! Ladies that have their toes unplagued with corns will walk a bout with you…”

Harry stood watching at the side of the stage, waiting for his cue to enter the scene, when he heard Draco step up behind him. His skin tingled when Draco leant closer and whispered in his ear.

“Scared, Potter?” he teased. His hot breath made the hairs on the back of Harry’s neck stand on end and he had to suppress the pleasant shiver that traversed his spine.

“I’m fine,” he replied quickly, trying to keep his voice steady. “I’ll try my best not to outshine you.”

Draco laughed gently. “You wish!”

Making sure nobody was watching, Draco pressed a quick kiss to Harry’s neck and whispered “Good luck” before stepping on stage, leaving Harry staring after him and wishing that they could find a quiet spot where they could ‘rehearse’ some more in private.

“...you are welcome, gentlemen! Come, musicians, play.”

When Harry heard Michael recite those lines, he stepped onto the stage and began to mingle among the other students, listening carefully for his next cue as Michael and Hannah Abbott, in the role of Second Capulet, began to converse with one another. Harry—more himself than acting as Romeo—watched Draco intently from across the stage. He couldn’t help but be drawn by the taunting lure of Draco’s lips and the way they curl up at the corners when he smiled like they were now, teasing him to come closer. It was difficult paying attention to what the others were saying around him, struggling to find the words that he had spent long hours trying to memorise when he was so captivated by the person before him. Harry wondered if this was how Romeo had felt when he saw Juliet for the first time.

Harry grabbed Hannah by the shoulder and nodded to Draco. “What lady is that, which doth enrich the hand of yonder knight?”

Hannah followed Harry’s line of sight and shook her head. “I know not, sir.”

“O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!” Harry declared. “It seems she hang upon the cheek of night as rich a jewel in an Ethiope’s ear: Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!”

As Harry recited his lines proclaiming love at first sight, Liv and Hermione watched intently as he crossed the stage to be nearer to Draco. On cue, Theo, in the role of Tybalt, and Michael began to argue on stage about the presence of a Montague at the Capulet ball but Harry paid them no mind. He had eyes only for Draco—or Juliet—whatever...

Several of the other students seemed to have forgotten that they were supposed to be in character as they stopped to watch Harry reach out to Draco and touch his hand.

“If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this: my lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss,” said Harry with a nervous note in his voice. Draco smiled at him.

“Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,” he teased. “Which mannerly devotion shows in this, for saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch. And palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.”

“Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?” asked Harry.

“Ay, pilgrim,” Draco nodded. “Lips that they must use in prayer.”

“O, then, dear saint, let lips do what palms do.” Harry pressed his palm against Draco’s before lacing their fingers together. “They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.”

“Saints do not move,” said Draco, “though grant for prayers’ sake.”

Harry moved closer to Draco and everyone in the room seemed to hold their collective breath. Despite his calm exterior, he could feel Draco’s pulse beating as rapidly as his own heart. It was comforting to know that he was feeling just as nervous as Harry was.

“Then move not, while my prayer’s effect I take,” Harry whispered. “Thus my lips...by yours...my sin is purged.”

He leant forward and pressed a chaste kiss to Draco’s lips and there was an audible gasp from the other students. Liv shushed them and everyone quickly fell silent again. As Harry broke the kiss, Draco spoke again, his voice a little hoarse.

“Then have my lips the sin that they have took.”

“Sin from my lips?” Harry chuckled. “O, trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again.”

Harry kissed Draco harder this time, perhaps for longer than necessary...but he wanted to put on a convincing performance, didn’t he? When he finally broke the kiss, Draco’s eyes fluttered open and he smiled.

“You kiss by th’book.” he joked.

“MADAM! YOUR MOTHER CRAVES A WORD WITH YOU!” bellowed Luna, lunging forward and grabbing Draco by the arm before dragging him across the stage.

The tension which had bewitched their captive audience only moments before vanished in an instant and several of the students erupted into laughter at Luna’s overenthusiastic performance. Liv waved her hands trying to get Luna’s attention.

“Cut! Cut!” she chuckled. “Luna, that was a wonderful performance but we don’t need to bellow at Juliet. She’s standing right next to you, not at the opposite end of a Quidditch pitch.”

“Ah. Right you are, Professor!” said Luna airily, still holding Draco’s reluctant hand firmly in her grasp.

Not everyone found the performance so amusing. Theo looked as though he had been slapped across the face while Ron’s face was screwed up with confusion. Harry felt a stab of panic as Hermione looked curiously between him and Draco before scribbling something hurriedly in her notes. Perhaps their performance had been a little too convincing.

“Messieurs Potter and Malfoy, an exemplary performance from both of you,” Liv continued. “Really wonderful. Okay, let’s take a five-minute break and start from the top, shall we?”

Harry didn’t have time to worry about his friends’ reaction to the kiss as they spent the next couple of hours rehearsing intensively. When the lesson concluded for the day and everyone began to file out of the room, Liv asked him and Draco to stay behind so that she could have “a word” with them about their performance. Harry’s panic spiked when Hermione also chose to stay behind, lingering by Liv’s side, clutching her notes closely to her chest. Had he and Draco given themselves away?

“Don’t look so worried, Mr Potter, I won’t keep you long,” Liv assured him. “Miss Granger has an interesting proposal to make with regards to the play but I wanted to run it by both of you first.”

Hermione shot a nervous glance at Liv before addressing Harry and Draco. “Well, I’ve been doing some research…” Harry couldn’t help but smile at that. Of course she had. “...specifically about Renaissance culture and I stumbled across a book in the library that explored the heterosexist norms in drama and poetry, specifically identity formation and sexual stereotyping. Now, I don’t want to be accused of presentism because there are plenty of theories surrounding how Shakespeare had originally intended for the play to be performed but I think it would be interesting to subvert expectations with regards to how Juliet is portrayed.”

“What on earth are you talking about, Granger?” asked Draco.

“What if Juliet was a boy?” Hermione suggested. “It would introduce a whole new dimension to the love affair! By all accounts, Romeo and Juliet’s relationship is already the perfect example of a queer romance: the fact that they transgress the norm by falling in love with someone outwith their respective kinds and engage in a forbidden relationship, the philosphical debate behind the weight of names of identity…the play provides a perfect critique of the heteronormative society surrounding them in Verona!”

Draco raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You think I should play Juliet as a boy?”

“I do,” said Hermione enthusiastically. “I mean, Shakespeare wrote the part to be played by a man, so I think it would be interesting to keep it that way but in a more literal sense.” She looked expectantly between the two boys. “So...what do you think?”

Harry turned to Draco to gauge his reaction. As much as he thought it was an inspired idea, perhaps it was hitting a little too close to home for Draco’s liking. But Draco looked contemplative for a moment before an amused smirk spread across his face.

“You know what, Granger? I like it.”

Hermione positively beamed and Liv nodded in agreement. “Then it’s settled! I’ll speak to Miss Parkinson about making the necessary adjustments to your costume and I’ll see that everyone’s scripts are updated accordingly. What should we call you instead?”

Draco thought for a moment. “How about...Julien?”

Hermione and Liv enthused over the new name but Draco turned to Harry and asked, “What do you think, Potter?”

Harry smiled. “Romeo and Julien. I think it’s got a nice ring to it.”


	21. Chapter 21

Although the sun was still bright and high in the sky, the temperature had noticeably dipped in recent days and the lush green foliage of the Forbidden Forest transformed into a sea of red and gold. Liv was already regretting wearing her hair down today as the blustery wind whipped her long, fair hair into the air and across her face. Pausing to check her appearance as she passed a shop window, she tried in vain to brush it down but quickly realised that her efforts were in vain and gave up trying to maintain a tidy appearance. Looking down the busy high street full of students, she found that she wasn’t the only one fighting a losing battle with the wind. People had thick scarves wrapped around their faces, heads bowed as they faced off against the treacherous gale. One witch squealed as a particularly strong gust of wind blew her pointed hat off of her head and sent it careening down the street.

Despite the weather, Liv always loved visiting Hogsmeade. Having grown up in a secluded Muggle seaside town, she had always anxiously looked forward to the school day trips to the only all-wizarding village in Britain, relishing the opportunity to immerse herself in the magical world and its culture, which still felt relatively foreign to her then. The chance to spend time in the village again was one of the benefits of taking up the teaching post at Hogwarts and she was relieved to find that even after all of these years, Hogsmeade had remained relatively unchanged; Honeydukes was still packed with excitable, sweet-toothed students, Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop was still open for business, and the Hog’s Head Inn remained the homestead to a host of shady and interesting characters. It was just as magical as she remembered.

Liv peered into the window of Gladrags Wizardwear and was pleased to see that it was packed full of students looking for costumes for the upcoming Halloween party. While her suggestion to perform _Romeo and Juliet_ had been met with mixed responses from students and staff members alike, the costume party had been received with universal enthusiasm. Liv pulled her cloak more tightly around her neck and continued down the high street. Ah well, at least one of her ideas was popular.

In the few weeks since term had started, Liv had quickly fallen into a routine: she would get up early on Saturday morning but instead of having breakfast in the Great Hall with everyone else, she would go to Madam Puddifoot’s for tea and crumpets. Sometimes, Professor Slughorn would accompany her when the weather was fair, but he had declined her invitation today when he had looked out of the window of his living quarters and saw how windy it was. She would then pop over to the post office and send a letter to Andromeda, asking how Teddy was keeping and sometimes sending him little gifts like children’s books and clothing. She would then head to her favourite shop in the whole village, Tomes and Scrolls, to find new books to add to her ever-growing collection.

Liv pushed open the door to the cramped bookshop and quickly closed it behind her, cutting off the blustering wind. She let out a small sigh of relief, enjoying the warmth within and the sweet, musky smell of thousands of old books. Not surprisingly, it was much quieter here than it was in Honeydukes or Dervish and Banges. A few of the older students milled about the maze of bookcases, stacked from floor to ceiling with ancient tomes and magical manuscripts. Liv smiled politely to the old shopkeeper as she weaved her way between the shelves, pretending to take interest in random books as she ventured deeper into the heart of the shop, occasionally pulling one off of the shelf and turning it over in her hand before placing it back without reading the title. Slowly, she made her way to the farthest corner of the shop. She was careful not to be seen hanging around in this particular section of the shop—the last thing she needed was for a student to catch sight of the books she was perusing and spread gossip about her at the school.

Liv hid behind one of the bookshelves as Hermione Granger came into view, but the studious Gryffindor was nose deep in a book and didn’t notice her Muggle Studies professor as she walked past and disappeared out of sight. Once Liv was sure that the coast was clear, she stepped out from her hiding place and hurried towards the nearby shelf that had a small sign above it reading Relationships and Dating, looking for one book in particular. Pulling a copy of _Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches_ off of the shelf, she opened it at the section detailing how to ask the object of your affections out on a date:

_Worried about taking that next big step? Fear not! Here are twelve fail-safe methods that are sure to succeed when asking out the witch of your dreams!_

_Hire a frog choir to serenade her._

_Buy her a crup, but beforehand, train the crup to ask her out._

_Throw a rock at her with a love note attached._

_Bribe her—_

Liv snapped the book shut and groaned. She might be rusty at this dating malarky but even she knew those suggestions were terrible. She had been smitten with Hestia Jones the moment that she had first laid eyes on her at the Welcoming Feast. While the two had become fast friends, sharing a passion for reading and chair spinning, as the weeks passed, Liv’s feelings for the pretty witch had only grown in intensity. A few days prior, she had finally mustered up the courage to ask her out on a date, but as she had approached Hestia, Liv’s nerves got the better of her. She had intended to invite the Defence Master out on Halloween for dinner but she had stuttered and stumbled over her words so profusely that Hestia mistook her proposal as a suggestion to arrange a party for the students. Rather than correct her friend and face the potential humiliation of rejection, Liv had nodded meekly and the two had set to work planning the party together. At least she would get to spend the evening with Hestia, even if it was only in a professional capacity.

Liv’s plan might have been a failure but she wasn’t going to give up so easily. With nobody else to turn to, in her desperation, she had resorted to consulting books on relationships and dating for ideas. Too embarrassed at the prospect of being caught purchasing one of the self-help guides, she had taken to visiting the bookshop every weekend, perusing love guides for sound advice. So far, her search had been a fruitless one.

“I should have known that I’d find you in here,” said a cheerful voice.

Liv squeaked in surprise and spun on her heel to find Hestia smiling warmly at her. She had a thick sheep wool scarf wrapped around her neck and her cheeks were rosy red from the cold. The first thought that popped into Liv’s head was how beautiful Hestia looked, only to become painfully aware of how bedraggled her own appearance was in comparison with her fly-away hair and faded cloak. Remembering then that she was still clutching the dating advice book in her hand, she quickly hid the offending item behind her back.

“Hestia!” she said breathlessly, trying to lean casually on the shelf to her left then immediately straightened when the bookcase wobbled dangerously. “What are you doing here?”

“Just picking up a bit of light bedtime reading,” she joked, holding up a book entitled _Psychic Self-Defence by Dion Fortune_. “A useful guide on how to protect oneself from paranormal attacks, just what every Defence professor needs, especially around exam time.”

“Oh. That sounds...alarming,” said Liv uncertainly. Hestia laughed.

“I’m only joking, it’s not for me—I can take care of myself—it’s just a bit of supplementary reading for my seventh year students.”

“Ah. Well, that’s a relief.”

“What about you?” asked Hestia interestedly. “Have you found what you’re looking for?”

“Oh, I’m not looking for anything in particular,” Liv lied, casting a silent Vanishing Spell on the book. “I’m just browsing today. You know me, always on the lookout for another book.”

“Hmm, anything in particular from the Dating Section that caught your eye?” Hestia asked lightly. Liv felt a blush creep up her cheeks.

“Oh. Is that where I’ve wandered into?” she replied, mentally kicking herself for sounding so stupid.

Liv’s heartbeat quickened as Hestia took a step closer to her, reached over her shoulder and pulled a book from the shelf behind her. Her heart sank when she saw the front cover of the book Hestia had picked up—another copy of _Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches._ A wry smile spread across Hestia’s face as she flicked through the book and opened it at a random page. She cleared her throat and began to read aloud.

“As the old saying goes, a woman’s tongue wags like a Crup’s tail. So on your date, be sure to let her do all of the talking, always look like you’re paying attention and agree with everything that she says.” Hestia snapped the book shut and slipped it back onto the shelf. “Hmm. Interesting advice.”

“Indeed,” Liv laughed nervously. “Who would be desperate enough to consult these books for advice, eh?”

Hestia’s expression grew soft. “I wouldn't put too much stock in what these books have to say. If someone’s caught your eye, you should just try asking them out. I’m sure they’d say yes.”

“Nobody’s caught my eye,” she replied, a little too quickly. An amused grin spread across Hestia’s face but she simply gave a careless shrug.

“If you say so,” she said, not sounding at all convinced by Liv’s protests. “Well, if you’re not looking for anything in particular, fancy getting out of here and grabbing a pint?”

Leaping at the chance to change the subject and awkward location of their discussion, Liv hurried for the exit, leaving four Galleons on the counter as she left in recompense for the book that she had Vanished.

The Three Broomsticks was always packed on a Saturday afternoon but they managed to find a small table in the corner of the pub to themselves. After Hestia shed her heavy cloak and scarf, she made her way to the bar to get the first round of drinks while Liv patiently guarded their table and seats. A couple of the students caught her eye and waved and she smiled politely in return. Her smile widened as Hestia quickly returned clutching two foaming tankards of Butterbeer.

“This’ll heat you up,” said Hestia brightly, plonking the tankard in front of Liv. Slipping into the empty chair across the small, round table, she raised her own cup. “Cheers.”

They clinked their metal tankards together and Liv took a deep swig of her drink, relishing the hot, sickly sweet liquid coating her tongue before flowing down her throat, heating her belly. Wrapping her hands around the mug, she enjoyed the warmth flowing through her fingers, banishing the wintery chill. Hestia snorted out a laugh and Liv frowned.

“What?” she asked. Hestia bit her lip, leant over the table, and lightly brushed her thumb over Liv’s top lip.

“You have a moustache,” she chuckled before proceeding to suck the cream off of her thumb. “Mmm, tasty!”

Liv thought that she might keel over right there and then.

“How’s the play coming along?” Hestia asked conversationally, taking a sip from her own drink.

Still a little flustered by Hestia’s seemingly innocuous actions, she blinked. “The what now?”

“The play,” Hestia repeated patiently. “How are rehearsals coming along?”

“Oh! Um, fine, I suppose,” Liv stammered. Needing a moment to collect herself, she took a protracted drink before speaking again. “No mutinies yet, thankfully. If anything, most of the students seem to be enjoying taking part.”

Hestia nodded. “That’s good to hear. Mind you, I’m pretty gutted that I wasn’t able to pop by and check out rehearsals this week.”

“Oh? Why’s that?” asked Liv curiously. Hestia gave a careless shrug, a mischievous smile playing across her lips.

“I overheard a couple of people chatting about it in the staffroom. Apparently, I missed quite the performance.”

“Ah, you mean Messers Potter and Malfoy?”

“Mmhmm.”

Liv cleared her throat and took another sip of her hot drink. “Yes, that was a very...convincing performance they put on.”

Hestia’s smile widened. “Indeed. I hear that they’re quite good together.”

Liv nodded vigorously. “Oh yes, they perform very well together. All the students do.”

“Hmm.” Hestia looked thoughtful for a moment. “You don’t think that they…”

“Potter and Malfoy?”

Hestia shrugged. Yes, after watching Draco and Harry’s kissing scene, the possibility had crossed Liv’s mind that there may have been less acting going on than either boy was willing to let on. But as far as she was concerned, what her students did in their own time is their own business. And she wasn’t going to begrudge two people from finding a little happiness in each other’s company. Merlin knows, Harry had earned it more than most.

“Maybe. Maybe not,” she replied noncommittally. “So long as they turn up on time for class and memorise their lines, it’s no skin off my teeth. Another drink?”

Rather than venture into the dangerous territory of her student’s love lives, Liv downed her drink and hurried to the bar to get them another pint. The rest of the afternoon passed in a pleasant blur as she and Hestia chatted about everything and anything; they had an in-depth discussion about Tolkien’s work, namely whether or not Bilbo Baggins was a reliable narrator (“Given his propensity to embellish events, I think most of the events were greatly exaggerated,” Liv argued). They also discussed the curious similarities between the power of The One Ring and that of Horcruxes (“I’m still convinced Tolkien was a wizard!” declared Hestia after their third pint).

After their fourth drink (or was it their fifth?), Liv was beginning to feel pleasantly tipsy and Hestia’s cheeks had an appealing rosy glow to them. The conversation had moved on from books and classwork and they proceeded to commiserate on their lacklustre love lives. Normally, Liv would have shied away from discussing that particular topic, but drinking copious amounts of mulled Butterbeer would loosen anyone’s tongue.

“I’ve noticed that Hogwarts hasn’t changed much over the years: it’s still full of hormonal teenagers falling in and out of love every week,” Hestia mused. “It reminds me of my school days.”

Liv laughed and rolled her eyes. “Tell me about it. I’ve lost count the number of times I’ve stumbled across students in the supply cupboard on the third floor. It’s a depressing state of affairs when the students have more active love lives than we do.”

“It really is unfair! We’re both single, attractive women—where are we going wrong?” Hestia lamented.

Liv shrugged. “Merlin only knows. It’s been so long since I’ve had a girlfriend, I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like.”

“Surely it hasn’t been that long?” Hestia exclaimed.

“I’m serious!” Liv argued. She sighed and shook her head. “Maybe I should just accept my fate: I’m destined to be a spinster all my life. I’ll die a recluse and get eaten by my Kneazles.”

When Hestia let out a raucous laugh, Liv felt quite pleased with herself to have amused her friend so much. Liv loved hearing Hestia laugh; she thought it was the most beautiful sound in the world, and it was all the more pleasant when she was the one to have caused it. Hestia wiped tears from her eyes and looked fondly at Liv.

“You’re hilarious,” she chuckled.

Liv smiled and shrugged. “I try my best. So, we’ve clarified that both of our love lives leave a lot to be desired. How long has it been since you were last in a relationship?”

Hestia looked thoughtful for a moment. “Well, I had a few girlfriends when I was at school, but I’ve only had a couple of serious relationships since I graduated. Nothing really worth mentioning, if I’m honest.” She threw back her head and groaned, “Merlin, it’s been so long since I’ve been with anyone!”

Liv’s ears pricked up when she heard that. “Really? I find that hard to believe.”

Hestia smiled at Liv over the top of her drink. “Oh? Why’s that?”

“Well, because you’re so…” Liv gesticulated at Hestia as though it were obvious. Hestia snorted and took a swig from her drink, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Well, whatever I am, it hasn’t made finding a girlfriend any easier,” she joked. “Mind you, with everything that’s been going on the last couple of years, I haven’t had much time to look for anyone.”

Liv nodded solemnly. “Yes, war and love don’t mix very well.”

“What about you?” asked Hestia. “Any great loves?”

“Ah, you know,” Liv replied noncommittally. Hestia quirked an eyebrow.

“I don’t. That’s why I’m asking,” she quipped.

Liv let out a long sigh and settled back into her chair. “Well, there was one girl…” Hestia leant forward in her seat with rapt attention and Liv continued, “We worked together at MACUSA.”

“What was her name?”

“Mal.”

“Mal,” Hestia repeated thoughtfully. “That’s a nice name.”

“She was a nice person,” said Liv. “We met at one of the office Christmas parties. She turned up in the most hideous Christmas jumper I’d ever seen so, naturally, I had to know more about her.”

Hestia chuckled but said nothing, so Liv continued, “We went out on a few dates, things got serious pretty quickly and we moved in together soon after. We got a Crup, started saving up for a house, things were going pretty well for us…”

Liv paused and Hestia looked expectantly at her. “I’m expecting there’s a ‘but’ coming up.”

“Isn’t there always?” said Liv wryly. She lowered her gaze and swirled the contents of her tankard as she spoke. “But then my dad got sick. I know I’ve told you a little about it already.”

“Lung cancer, right?”

Liv nodded. “He’d been pretty poorly when I last visited him. He had a chesty cough but we thought it was just a bug going around. But after I went home to the States, his cough only got worse. But my dad was stubborn, he didn’t want to pester the doctor just because of a chest infection. Then he started getting pain in his back, and was losing a lot of weight and...well, by the time he finally went to the doctor, there wasn’t much that they could do for him.”

Liv downed the rest of her drink which had long since gone cold and continued, “So, he called me and told me what his situation was. I took leave from work and came back here to take care of him. Ted and Andromeda helped out a lot, cooking meals and keeping my dad company so that we could have a bit of a break from each other. I loved my dad; he had always been such an independent person, but now here I was spending every minute of the day and night with him, helping him do things that he couldn’t do for himself anymore. It was really frustrating for him.”

“It’s understandable,” Hestia offered gently.

“I suppose the only saving grace is that it wasn’t a long, drawn-out illness,” Liv continued matter-of-factly, her gaze focused intently on the empty tankard as she spoke. “Mal came over for the funeral, of course. She’d only met my dad once but she still flew halfway across the world because she wanted to be there for me. After the funeral, she headed back to the States and I stayed behind to sort through dad’s things—his belongings, his paperwork, all the legal stuff—that’s when I found out he’d left the cottage to me. I had to consider what to do with the property—either sell it or let it out to someone else—but the more I thought about it, the more I realised that I didn’t want anyone else to live in my home. I’d grown up in that cottage, all my memories of my parents were tied to that place. I knew that I needed to go back to the States; I’d put my life on hold for months and I had everything waiting for me…”

“But you couldn’t go,” Hestia finished. Liv nodded glumly.

“Dirk helped me find work at the Ministry in the same department I’d worked at MACUSA, so the transition was easy enough. It was difficult explaining to Mal why I needed to stay. I even asked if she would consider moving over here, but all of her family and friends were in New York, and her career was on the rise, so it didn’t make sense for her to drop everything and move here. To her credit, she was really understanding about the whole thing—more understanding than I deserved, really. She should have been angrier at me for uprooting both of our lives like that, but Mal wasn’t like that. She was always thoughtful and understanding—the heart of a Hufflepuff, through and through. We tried to make things work, have a long-distance relationship, but we were only able to see each other a couple of times a year. It wasn’t fair on her to drag things out.”

“Are you still in touch with Mal?” asked Hestia.

“No,” said Liv quietly. “I did see her again a few years ago. She’d come over on Ministry business—she was the American liaison during the English Quidditch World Cup and had a few meetings with Ludo Bagman. I had a pleasant but brief conversation with her; she’s married now, got a couple more Crups...she seemed happy, which is the best I could have asked for.”

A sombre silence followed as Liv reminisced about the many lost loves in her life. She hadn’t intended for the evening to take such a woeful turn, but Hestia was always such an attentive listener and, despite the subject matter, it still felt good to open up to her and reveal a little more about herself.

“Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad that you came back,” Hestia offered. “Otherwise we wouldn’t be sitting here enjoying each other’s company now.”

Liv gave Hestia a small smile. “Very true. I’m glad to be here with you, too.”

Hestia raised her tankard in the air. “Cheers to that.”

Liv clinked her cup against Hestia’s and downed the last dregs at the bottom of the tankard before placing it carefully on the table again. Checking her watch, she was surprised to see that it was so late in the evening.

“I think I’ll just head back up to the castle,” she said, pushing her chair away from the table. “I’m feeling quite tired now. And drunk.”

“Yeah, me too.” Hestia downed the last of her drink and rose to her feet, swaying slightly on the spot. “Let’s make tracks before Rosmerta kicks us out.”

The wind had died down and the high street was much quieter now, all of the students having returned to the castle and most of the shops now closed for the evening. They walked up the dark dirt path towards Hogwarts in amiable silence for a few moments before Hestia playfully nudged Liv with her shoulder.

“So, are you finally going to tell me who you fancy?” she queried. Liv let out a nervous laugh.

“What are you on about?”

“Don’t play coy with me,” Hestia teased. “You weren’t checking out those dating books for academic purposes. Someone’s caught your eye, haven’t they?”

“Maybe…” said Liv evasively. “But it’s not like they would be interested in me, so it’s all rather pointless even talking about it.”

Hestia frowned. “Why wouldn’t they be interested?”

Liv hesitated a moment before answering, “I suppose it’s because this person that I like, they’re funny, and smart, and brave...I’m not any of those things.” Hestia opened her mouth to argue but Liv pressed on, “Don’t say that I’m not. I know that I’m clumsy and awkward. And boring.”

“Boring?” Hestia laughed. “How on earth are you boring?”

“Of all the places in the world I could be, you knew that you’d find me in a bookshop,” Liv pointed out. “I spend all of my free time reading musty old books and reciting Shakespeare and Tolkien. There are probably flobberworms out there with more exciting lives than mine.”

“I like reading books,” Hestia reminded her. “Do you think _I’m_ boring?”

“No!” Liv replied quickly. “No, of course not. You’re funny and smart and...an interesting person.”

Hestia sighed and hooked her arm through Liv’s pulling her closer as they walked up the stone steps towards the castle’s entrance. “You don’t give yourself enough credit. I think you’re very interesting. Why else would I spend so much of my time in your company?”

“Boredom?” Liv quipped. Hestia rolled her eyes.

“Okay, this person that you like—how likely is it that you’ll ask them out on a date?”

“I might,” said Liv unconvincingly. “Well, maybe...I don’t know.”

“What’s stopping you?”

Liv shrugged. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to ask them...I’m just not very good at that sort of thing.”

“Well, I don’t think you’re going to find the solution between the pages of any of those rubbish dating books you were eyeing up,” Hestia mused. When they reached Liv’s living quarters, Hestia relinquished her grip on Liv’s arm and turned to face her.

“I assure you, asking someone out on a date is quite easy. You just need to have a little confidence in yourself,” she said gently. “You just need to look the person that you like dead in the eye and say, ‘Liv, I really like you. Would you like to go out with me for dinner?’”

Liv sighed in resignation. “Damn, you made that look so easy! I just know if I tried that I’d still mess it up somehow—what’s so funny?”

Hestia was trying to suppress a laugh and was failing miserably. She took Liv’s hand into her own and said, “Liv, I need you to listen to me carefully. _I really like you._ I would like to take you out for dinner.”

Hestia waited patiently for Liv to reply but Liv merely stared back at her with a confused expression.

Then the Galleon dropped.

“Oh...OH!” Liv gasped and stammered. “I—really? You’d like to take me out for dinner?”

Hestia’s smile widened. “Yes.”

“Like...as in a date?”

“Yes,” Hestia laughed. “So what do you say?”

Liv still looked uncertain. “Are you sure?”

“Oh for Godric’s sake,” Hestia muttered. She leant down and pressed a wet kiss to Liv’s lips. When she pulled away, her expression was serious. “I’m sure.”

Liv stared at Hestia, momentarily stunned at what was happening before grinning broadly and kissing Hestia back. She could feel Hestia smiling against her lips and her hands slid around Liv’s waist, pulling her closer. Liv couldn’t quite believe that this was happening, sure that she was dreaming but she didn’t want to wake up. Breaking the kiss, she was pleased to see the rosy blush had returned to Hestia’s cheeks.

“I don’t think it would look very professional if students caught two of their professors kissing in the corridor,” she said a little breathlessly. “Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?”

Hestia’s smile broadened. “Yeah, that’d be lovely.”

Liv opened the door to her living quarters and ushered Hestia inside. Just when she thought her life at Hogwarts couldn’t get any better...well, she was happy to be proven wrong in this instance.


	22. Chapter 22

Gladrags Wizardwear had been a prominent fixture on Hogsmeade’s high street since its grand opening more than two hundred and forty years prior. In that time, they had built a reputation for providing high-quality, stylish clothing, and a determination to fulfil the needs of every witch and wizard that passed through their doors. They had a steady stream of customers and loyal clientele, but today their Hogsmeade branch was unusually busy. On this particular Sunday afternoon, the shop was packed with excitable students looking for the perfect costume for the upcoming Halloween party.

Pansy was perusing the various tiaras and crowns on display at the counter while Seamus and Dean were trying on several wigs, laughing at each other’s amusing appearances in the vanity mirror mounted on one of the walls. Poor Goyle was struggling to find any costume big enough to fit his hulking frame while Neville and Luna browsed through one of the many racks of colourful costumes on offer.

Yes, everyone in Gladrags Wizardwear was thoroughly enjoying themselves.

Everyone, except for Ronald Weasley.

Ron was in a foul mood. He had just seen Ginny and Theo enter the shop together, whispering conspiratorially to one another before greeting Luna and Neville. Hermione had given him a warning look that told him to mind his own business, thrust a costume into his hands and pushed him into one of the empty changing rooms. Ron started putting the costume on, deep in thought. He just didn’t understand it. He was so sure that Harry and Ginny would have moved past their little tiff and gotten back together by now, but his sister seemed more interested in the affections of Theo Nott these days. Stranger still was that Harry didn’t seem the least bit bothered by this.

 _Maybe Harry is just playing it cool,_ he wondered. If that was the case, then it wasn’t working very well. He considered the possibility that Ginny was just doing this to make Harry jealous, but that didn’t make any sense either since Harry wasn’t with anyone else at the moment. He was just spending all of his free time in Malfoy’s company.

 _Bloody Malfoy,_ he thought irritably to himself. That was another thing that Ron was struggling to wrap his head around. After seven years of being at each other’s throats, all of a sudden Harry and Malfoy were laughing and joking with each other like they’d been friends for years. Okay, so Ron might have neglected his friendship with Harry of late, spending “quality time” with Hermione whenever the opportunity arose. But surely Harry wasn’t lonely enough to feel that he needed to buddy up with the likes of Draco Malfoy. There were so many other better, nicer people he could have chosen to be friends with instead. A horrible thought struck Ron then—maybe Harry was doing this to make him feel jealous!

 _Surely not,_ he told himself, pulling up his trousers. Harry wasn’t vindictive, he wouldn’t do that to him. Besides, he wasn’t jealous of Harry spending all of his free time with Malfoy instead of him. Nope. Not one bit.

Ron scrutinised his reflection in the changing room mirror, screwing up his nose in distaste. The costume that Hermione had picked out for him looked ridiculous: the green velour robes clashed horribly with his fiery red hair and the garland of fig leaves and berries that adorned his head was too small, so it sat perched on top of his head like a bird’s nest. He twisted left and right, checking his appearance from all angles but it was no better however you looked at it. Ron sighed and adjusted the crown on top of his head. This looked almost as bad as the dress robes he’d worn to the Yule Ball.

Almost.

“How are you getting on in there?” called Hermione.

Ron pulled back the curtain and stepped back out onto the shop floor so his girlfriend could take a look for herself how foolish he looked.

“You can’t really expect me to wear this,” he griped.

Hermione sat in the centre of the circular changing room on a worn, sagging pouffe with her preferred costume already draped across her lap. She gave Ron a once-over and frowned.

“Why not?” she queried. “I think you look nice.”

“I look ridiculous!” he cried, gesticulating wildly at his gaudy appearance. “I told you that I didn’t want to wear a dress.”

“It’s not a dress, Ronald, it’s a toga!” she bristled. “Men in ancient Rome and Greece wore togas every day and they were a symbol of your status and power.”

Ron looked down at his costume again and back up at his girlfriend.

“This is a dress,” he insisted.

“What on earth are you grumbling about now, Weasley?” Draco drawled. He drew back his own curtain and stepped out of the small changing room wearing a lincoln green tunic and trousers with a matching chapeau à bec. He froze when he caught sight of Ron and an amused smirk spread across his face. “I don’t know what you’re supposed to be, but I understand why you’re upset.”

Ron turned back to Hermione, feeling vindicated. “See? Even Malfoy thinks I look stupid.”

“To be fair, I think you always look stupid,” Draco taunted.

“Piss off, Malfoy!” he spat.

If it wasn’t bad enough having to spend an afternoon shopping for Halloween costumes, he had to do it in the company of Draco bloody Malfoy, of all people. Harry might have inexplicably become bosom buddies with the blonde git but that didn’t mean he had.

“He’s Oberon, King of the Fairies,” said Hermione testily. “And I think he looks dashing!”

“And who are you supposed to be?” Ron grumbled. Draco slung a small wooden bow over his shoulder and struck a pose.

“Robin Hood, of course. Heroic outlaw and Prince of Thieves.”

“I should have guessed that you’d dress up as a common criminal,” Ron sneered.

“Well, excuse me for not taking style tips from someone that dresses like my great-aunt Druella,” Draco bit back.

“Can you guys at least try and be civil with one another for more than a few minutes?” Harry cried from his own changing room.

“Not possible,” Draco replied lightly. “Weasley’s too easy to wind up.”

It was taking all of Ron’s willpower not to hex that stupid smirk off of Draco’s face right there and then, but he had already promised Hermione that he would try his best to be civil with him for Harry’s sake. This, however, was proving to be a real test of his and Harry’s friendship. Ron gnashed his teeth in frustration and glared at the smarmy Slytherin.

“Well, I’d like to see you try and pull off this costume!” he challenged.

“Fine,” said Draco mildly. “Let’s swap costumes and see who wears it better, shall we?”

Both boys retreated back into their changing rooms, tossed the clothing over the top of the curtains to one another and reemerged a couple of minutes later in each other’s costumes. Much to Ron’s fury, Draco looked like a Roman dignitary in the Shakespearean costume: elegant and regal with skin like pale marble, he resembled one of the sculptures commonly found in the ancient world.

 _Absolute wanker,_ thought Ron viscously.

“Ooh, that looks lovely on you, Malfoy!” said Hermione praisingly.

“It does, doesn’t it?” he preened, strutting past an increasingly furious Ron to where Harry’s changing room was. “Potter, what do you think?”

Harry’s head of messy hair popped out of the changing room and he stared at Draco for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

“S’nice,” he mumbled before disappearing back behind the curtain.

“What about my costume?” asked Ron keenly. Hermione tore her attention away from Draco to look at her boyfriend and bit her lip.

“Umm…”

“You look like Peter Pan,” said Draco.

Ron frowned. “Who?”

“He’s a man-child in a pair of tights who never grows up,” Draco smirked. “Remind you of anyone that we know?”

“Yeah, he reminds me of you,” said Ron angrily.

“I’ll have you know that Peter Pan is one of the Muggle world’s greatest literary heroes,” Hermione offered.

“Let’s see what Potter thinks, shall we?” said Draco brightly. “Potter! Come check out Weasley’s costume!”

“I’ll be out in a minute!” he cried.

Draco clicked his tongue impatiently and marched over to Harry’s changing room, popping his head through the curtain. “What’s taking you so long? You’ve been in here for ages.”

“It’s this costume,” Ron heard Harry grumble. “It’s got too many straps and buckles, I’m having a hell of a time putting it together.”

“Do you need a hand putting it on?”

“No, I’m almost done…”

A moment later, Harry threw back the curtain and stepped out of his changing room, finally unveiling his costume. Ron’s mouth fell open in shock and Hermione covered her mouth, muttering “oh my!” under her breath. Ron now understood why it had taken Harry so long to assemble his outfit: he wore a galea helmet that was far too large for his head, bronze greaves with a forearm guard on one arm and a manica on the other, each secured with several leather buckles and straps. The complex leather harness which the armguard was attached to comprised of studded leather and several metal hoops, which Ron thought was a rather impractical addition to an outfit supposedly designed for combat. Curiously, Harry’s chest was almost entirely exposed, which seemed like a major design flaw for armour. He was wearing what Ron assumed was supposed to be a Roman gladiator outfit, only this was much more...revealing.

“It’s too much, isn’t it?” Harry grimaced.

“Not enough, I’d argue,” Hermione muttered. “Where’s the rest of the costume?”

“I think it suits you,” Draco simpered.

“You look like one of the blokes in Charlie’s dirty magazines,” Ron chipped in.

“Yeah, I don’t know about this,” said Harry uncertainly. He tried desperately to pull down the obscenely short leather loincloth so that he could cover his knobbly knees but to no avail. A blush crept up his cheeks as Draco’s eyes dragged over his form.

“I don’t see what the problem is,” said Draco casually.

“I mean, it’s not really suitable weather to be wearing this, is it?” Harry continued. “It’s October and we’re in the Scottish Highlands.”

“Cast a warming charm, then,” Draco suggested.

“You don’t think it’s a tad inappropriate for Harry to walk about Hogwarts with a bare chest?” said Hermione.

“Certainly not!” said Draco. “Besides, it’s common knowledge that gladiators fought with bare chests; the Romans viewed it as a symbol of masculine virility.”

Harry pushed the overly large helmet from his eyes and gave Draco an incredulous look.

“What’s wrong with my masculine virility?” he demanded.

“Never mind that,” Hermione cut in. “That outfit is completely inaccurate! Your shin guards would be leather, not bronze, that helmet you’re wearing would have been worn by a Roman soldier, not a gladiator, and your shield would have been square, not round! And the loincloth...well, to be fair the loincloth is accurate,” she conceded before shaking her head in disbelief. “No. The costume is all wrong. You’ll just have to pick another one.”

“Is there anything about the costume that you _do_ like?” asked Draco testily.

Hermione scrutinised Harry’s appearance for a moment. “The short sword is also historically accurate, so that’s fine.”

“Well, thank Merlin for that,” said Draco sarcastically.

“The sword is pretty cool,” said Harry keenly, unsheathing it from its scabbard and swinging it from side to side.

“Never mind _your_ costume, what about mine?” said Ron, lifting his arms and turning on the spot for Harry to see him from all angles. “What do you think?”

Harry screwed up his face. “Are you supposed to be Peter Pan?”

Ron’s arms fell by his sides in defeat. Ignoring Draco’s laughter, he stormed back into his changing room and drew the curtain closed behind him before tossing the feather cap on the ground in frustration. He’d had enough of playing dress-up for one day.

* * *

Ron had emerged from the changing room a couple of minutes later wearing his normal clothes and announced that he was going to the pub. After purchasing their costumes, Hermione had followed after him, wishing Harry and Draco good luck in their search for the perfect outfit. After waving them off, Harry—now wearing a Superman costume—turned to Draco and sighed.

“Why is it that every costume you’ve suggested to me so far is form-fitting or exposes a lot of skin?” he queried. Draco smirked and gave a slight shrug.

“Sheer coincidence,” he lied. “Alright, since none of my costume choices have been to your liking so far, tell me what you’re looking for.”

Harry thought for a moment. “Something with a sword would be cool.”

“Figured as much,” Draco teased, smiling at him.

“Nothing that’s too much hassle to put on or take off again,” Harry continued. “And something that will hide my face.”

“You want a mask?” asked Draco curiously.

Harry shrugged. “It’s a rare chance for me to spend a whole evening where nobody knows who I am.”

“Yes, that does sound appealing,” said Draco thoughtfully. “Pop back into the changing room and take off that outfit. I might have seen something to your liking already.”

“Usually I like to be taken out to dinner first before I take my clothes off for someone,” Harry joked.

Draco smiled and rolled his eyes before marching back out to the front of the shop and out of sight. Harry pulled the curtain closed again and stripped out of the red and blue leotard as quickly as he could. Although he liked the cape, he was glad to be rid of this particular outfit; it was stifling hot to wear and kept riding up his rear end. Who would have thought that being the Man of Steel could be so uncomfortable? A moment later, Draco’s arm appeared through the curtain brandishing a new outfit.

“Try this on for size,” he suggested.

Harry took the proffered costume from Draco’s outstretched hand and frowned. The outfit was all black, with a cordobes, cape and rapier. Unsure of what it was, Harry quickly pulled on the costume and inspected his reflection in the mirror. Slipping on the black cloth veil mask, he carefully placed the wide-brimmed hat atop his head and smiled. Drawing back the curtain, he stepped out of the changing room to show Draco how the costume looked.

“This is perfect,” he declared.

Draco smiled at him and nodded, “I quite agree. Shame that there’s no skin on display but it still suits you. What is the costume of? I just saw the sword and mask and thought it was what you were looking for.”

Harry drew his rapier and brandished it through the air with the ease and grace of a wand. “I am Zorro! The masked vigilante who defends the poor and victimised against the forces of injustice. Have at thee!”

“Good Godric,” Draco groaned. “If I had known that, I’d have picked something else for you to wear. Your saviour complex is bad enough as it is.”

Harry chuckled and sheathed his sword. “You know, if you read enough books, a hero’s story always turns out the same: he beats the bad guy, finds the treasure, rescues the maiden…”

Draco huffed and crossed his arms. “I am not a maiden and I don’t need rescuing, thank you very much.”

“I know.” Harry took a step closer to Draco and whispered in his ear. “But the end of the story is always sealed with a kiss. Or a bedroom door closing…”

Draco’s eyes widened with understanding and he grinned. “Ah...well, that’s a part of the story that I can get behind.”

Checking that the coast was clear, Harry and Draco slipped into the empty changing room and pulled the curtain closed again. The first thing that Harry noticed was how little space there was to move in the small changing room—not that Harry was complaining—he and Draco were forced to stand with their chests pressed together. The next thing he noticed was Draco’s erection pressed against his thigh. A mischievous smile crept across Draco’s face and he pressed closer, gently pushing Harry’s back against the mirror.

“Well, isn’t this cosy,” he whispered suggestively.

Harry grinned and rested his hands on Draco’s hips. He was always happy to seize opportunities like this as they arose, and if he and Draco happened to find themselves alone for a few precious minutes, he’d be foolish _not_ to take advantage of that.

“I dunno, I think it’s just the right size for the two of us.” Harry closed the distance between them and kissed him soundly. He felt the ache of want between his legs grow as Draco slipped his hand down his trousers and stroked him, humming with approval as Harry grew hard in his grip.

“Mmm, someone’s eager,” he chuckled against Harry’s lips.

“It’s your fault,” Harry teased, lacing his fingers through Draco’s hair and kissing his jaw. “When I saw you in that toga, I just wanted to tear it off of you and have my way with you right there and then.”

“Then my cunning plan worked,” said Draco, sounding pleased with himself.

It went without saying that they would have to be quiet, lest the poor shopkeeper found them as they would most definitely get kicked out, and wouldn’t that be embarrassing. Still, the risk of getting caught wasn’t enough to dissuade Harry from engaging in a very quick and very quiet hookup with his boyfriend. On the contrary, the risk of getting caught made it more exciting. But Harry wasn’t worried about getting caught because he knew he could be quiet if he needed to be. He’d spent several years sharing a dormitory with four other teenage boys: he had ‘keeping quiet’ down to an art form now.

Harry tossed the hat onto the floor and went to remove the mask but Draco stopped him. “Leave it on,” he breathed, catching Harry’s lips in another searing kiss.

So, Draco had a thing for masks, too: Harry made a mental note of that. He tugged on Draco’s belt but his eyes flew open in surprise as Draco grabbed both of his wrists in a vice-like grip and moved them to Harry’s sides. Harry’s breathing quickened as Draco loomed closer, his hot, steady breaths tickling the bare flesh of Harry’s neck.

“Let’s play a game,” he said silkily, taking the lobe of Harry’s ear between his teeth and tugging it. A sharp, delicious spark of pain and pleasure shot through Harry’s whole body and his eyes fluttered shut. “Keep your hands by your sides. Let’s see how long you can resist touching me or yourself.”

Harry suppressed a groan and nodded vigorously in response. His breathing stuttered as Draco’s teasing bite turned gentle, pressing another open-mouthed kiss to Harry’s neck as his fingers slipped back beneath Harry’s trousers and boxers. When Draco wrapped his fingers around his cock, he couldn’t help the needy moan that escaped his lips. Draco quickly covered Harry’s mouth with his free hand, smothering another desperate whimper, while his other continued to run up and down Harry’s shaft.

“Shh…” he purred. “You wouldn’t want anyone to catch you like this, hmm? Pinned against the mirror with your legs spread and moaning while I pump your cock. You wouldn’t want everyone to see what a dirty boy you are, how much you enjoy getting fucked by me…”

Harry’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and he groaned. The things that Draco was saying, the way he was looking at Harry—as though he wanted to devour him—the way he was expertly moving his hand back and forth across Harry’s length in long, smooth strokes...it wouldn’t take long before Harry was beyond the point of no return. Draco seemed to sense this, his grip growing slick as Harry’s cock wept precome, so he slowed his movements down to a torturously slow pace. Desperate for Draco to speed up, Harry began thrusting his hips into Draco’s tight fist, his breaths coming out in sharp, shallow pants against the palm of Draco’s hand. Draco clicked his tongue in disapproval and his expression grew predatory.

“My my, you are quite impatient, aren’t you, Potter?” he teased, giving Harry’s already painfully hard cock a tight squeeze. Harry gasped and struggled to keep his hands to himself, desperately grasping his hands against the slippery surface of the mirror for purchase and finding none. Draco lowered his hand from Harry’s mouth. “You’re really desperate to come, aren’t you?”

“Please, Draco...” Harry panted.

His mind was a fog of lust and he couldn’t figure out what else to say, but Draco just smiled and picked up the pace of his hand, understanding without having to be told. An intense surge of pleasure rose up from the pit of Harry’s stomach as Draco quickly stroked him closer and closer to climax.

“Fuck, Harry, you look so sexy like this,” said Draco, his voice deep and husky. “I wish we were back up at the castle right now. Then I could sink my cock into your tight, wet hole and fuck you into the bed.”

“Oh my god…” Harry whimpered. His skin erupted in goosebumps as Draco slipped his hand under his shirt and dragged his nails across Harry’s bare flesh, brushing the tips of his fingers across his sensitive nipples. Harry gasped as Draco took his right nipple between his index finger and thumb and gave it a light squeeze. Harry’s breathing was quicker now, heavier, louder. He was so caught up with the feeling of his impending orgasm he had completely forgotten where they were and who might be listening.

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” said Draco roughly. “If I fucked you and bred you. Made you mine…”

“Ohgodohfuck, uh uh uh….” Harry stammered as Draco sped up his ministrations. “D-Draco, I’m gonna—oh fuck!”

Harry’s back arched as his orgasm tore through him. He had no idea how loud he screamed but he was fairly certain they would be able to hear him in the castle dungeons. So much for staying quiet. But for those precious, perfect few moments, Harry couldn’t care less who heard him because he was flying...

In a daze, Harry slumped back against the mirror, hitting it with a loud _thud_ and panting hard. It took him a few moments to regain his faculties and slowly, he opened his eyes and looked up into Draco’s face. He was wearing an expression that Harry had never seen before, almost like he was drunk—drunk on Harry. There was a hunger in his eyes too, one that Harry could imagine the origin of all too well since he could feel the same want tear at him from the inside. The sight made him groan and he pulled Draco forward and kissed him hard, hoping to convey in one kiss the storm of emotions raging inside of him. When he finally pulled away, he pressed his forehead into Draco’s shoulder and sighed.

“I’m pretty sure we’ve just secured ourselves a lifetime ban from this shop,” he grimaced. Draco chuckled and kissed the crown of Harry’s head.

“Do you really think I’d risk us getting caught? I cast a wandless silencing charm as I entered the room. You could scream your head off to your heart’s content, nobody can hear a thing.”

Harry lifted his head and gave Draco a playful shove. “So all that talk about me needing to be quiet was for nothing?”

“Not for nothing,” Draco countered. “Believing that you could get caught is half the fun, isn’t it?”

Harry couldn’t argue with that. Although he was a little miffed at the deception, ultimately, he was glad that their little tryst remained private. Draco checked his reflection in the mirror and straightened his shirt, looking very pleased with himself.

“That said, I’ve already spent a suspicious length of time in here. I better skedaddle.”

“What about you?” asked Harry. “I want to return the favour.”

“We can do that later this evening,” Draco assured him with a devilish grin. “We still have to rehearse tonight.”

He pressed a quick kiss to Harry’s lips before slipping back out of the changing room as though nothing had happened, leaving Harry in a debauched state. Harry spelled himself clean and slowly got redressed into his normal clothes, still feeling a little punch-drunk from his orgasm. He hadn’t been particularly looking forward to this shopping trip but as always, Draco had not only made it fun but memorable. He only wished that Draco and Ron would get on better with one another but he knew that was wishful thinking. Still, they had refrained from exchanging more than verbal insults, so overall, this interaction had been their most civil to date. As far as Harry was concerned, that was a remarkable amount of progress.

Checking his appearance in the mirror one last time, Harry smiled to himself, and for the first time in as long as he could remember, the smile was a genuine one. Not the fake one he’d had to plaster across his face when he met fans or spoke to government officials, but a real one. Because this was the happiest he’d felt in a very long time, and he knew that was largely thanks to one person in particular. Harry grabbed the Zorro costume and exited the changing room with a definite spring in his step. It seemed that, against all odds, this was shaping up to be his best year at Hogwarts ever.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So just a heads up to my regular readers, I'll be going on a brief hiatus (no more than a month, I promise!) from posting chapters. I've got another story for a fic exchange that I need to complete and life, in general, has been scuppering my attempts to do serious writing of late. 
> 
> Sorry about this, but I just wanted to assure you all that I haven't disappeared, and I promise the next chapter is going to be an absolute cracker.
> 
> A huge thank you to everyone who has been following this story and leaving comments, your words of encouragement are always a bright spot, even on the darkest of days (of which there are plenty at the moment, November is such a gloomy month).
> 
> Anyway, enjoy this chapter and I'll be back soon.

_Dear Mother,_

_I’m sorry that I haven’t had the time to write to you recently. Let me first assuage your fears that you expressed in your previous letter: I am fine. I will admit that this year hasn’t been without its difficulties—as we both expected there would be—but in all honesty, things have been better than expected. Lessons are dull as always but I’m confident that I’ll pass my N.E.W.T.s. easily enough. Interestingly, in place of a Quidditch Tournament, one of the professors has arranged for the seventh year students to perform a play in front of the school at the end of term. You’ll be pleased to hear that I have the starring role in the play…_

Draco paused and read over what he had written. Of course, he’d omitted some key details from the letter, like the fact that it was his Muggle Studies professor who had arranged for them to be performing a famous Muggle play. But Draco had learned long ago that what his parents didn’t know couldn’t hurt them. It wasn’t as though they’d ever see him perform in the play anyway. He also thought better than to mention the hassle he’d been receiving from the other students. The last thing that he needed was his mother marching up to McGonagall’s office and demanding action against the perpetrators. Besides, since he and Harry had started seeing each other, the bullying from the other students didn’t bother him nearly as much as it used to. Dipping his quill into ink, he continued to write.

_I’ve met someone._

Draco immediately scratched that out. There was a part of him that wanted to tell his mother about Harry, to just be honest about his feelings, but deep down, he knew that he wouldn’t do that. Draco Malfoy had never been famed for his bravery. He tried to imagine telling his parents and them being completely fine and accepting of his relationship with Harry but he knew that was wishful thinking. No, it was better just to keep things between him and Harry quiet for the time being—at least until Draco was certain of Harry’s feelings for him, that whatever they had was something worth the risk of his parents’ wrath. As strong as his feelings were for Harry, it was still early days in their relationship. His secret beau might live with his heart on his sleeve but Draco was far more cautious with his feelings. Draco thought for a moment what he could say to his mother instead before writing….

_I’ve made a new friend._ (Yes, that sounded much better) _They’ve had a rather difficult couple of years as well and it’s nice to talk to someone else who has had similar experiences. We have quite a few things in common, actually. They were as disappointed as I was about the lack of Quidditch this year but at least we can enjoy our weekend trips to Hogsmeade again._

Draco decided that it was best to keep things as vague as possible and give his mother just enough information to keep her ticking over until he saw her again over the Christmas holidays. He scribbled down a few other lines about missing her and the Manor, and, as an afterthought, added that he hoped Father was keeping well. His mother hadn’t mentioned his father in her previous letter and Draco didn’t care to ask about him. He assumed that the Malfoy patriarch was still cooped up in his drawing room, stewing over how hard done by he and the family were. Draco didn’t much care for his father’s self-pity and he had more important things to contend with, like memorising his lines for this bloody play.

Looking up from the draft letter he had resting on his lap, he watched as Harry, Ginny and Ron strode across the stage, rehearsing one of their scenes. He wasn’t acting in any scenes today so had settled himself in one of the balconies, taking advantage of the free time to finally write back to his mother. He’d been meaning to do it for a few days now but what with all of his homework, rehearsals and sneaking about the castle with Harry, Draco had very little spare time to do anything else. Okay, perhaps he had been avoiding writing her a letter but better late than never, he reasoned.

“How are rehearsals coming along?”

Draco tensed as he recognised the voice and quickly covered his letter with a blank piece of parchment. Looking up, he was shocked to see Theo sidling along the narrow walkway before taking the empty seat beside him.

“What do you want?” he asked, making no attempt to hide the irritation in his voice. Theo shrugged and pulled his script out from his back pocket.

“I saw you sitting up here on your own and thought that we could rehearse our lines together,” he offered.

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “Well that would be a rather pointless exercise, wouldn’t it?”

“Why’s that?”

“Because we don’t have any scenes together,” he pointed out. “But I think you already knew that. So, why don’t you tell me what you really want?”

Theo stared at him for a moment before he let out a derisive snort and tossed his script onto the empty seat next to him. “Alright, smartarse, you win. I came up here because I wanted to talk to you.”

“About what?”

Theo cleared his throat and bowed his head, unable to meet Draco’s eye. “Ginny and I have been talking…”

“Ooh, on first name terms now, are you?” Draco sneered. “So, the rumours about you two are true, then? I wonder what your father would have to say about that.”

“Don’t,” Theo warned in a low, dangerous voice.

Draco smirked at Theo but he knew better than to push his luck. Theo would have no qualms about hexing him in the middle of the theatre in front of their peers. But Draco couldn’t help himself; he had so much pent up anger and frustration about how his former friend had treated him that he couldn’t help but lash out at him whenever the opportunity arose, even if he was holding out some sort of olive branch. Theo took a couple of deep breaths before speaking again.

“Look, I know that things between us have been...awkward, lately…”

Draco scoffed. “Awkward for you, maybe. I’ve had more important things on my mind than to concern myself with you.”

Theo snarled and threw his hands up into the air in frustration. “Urgh, you always do this!”

“What?” asked Draco innocently.

“Act like a spiteful little shit any time someone hurts your feelings,” he snapped. “I get it: I hurt your feelings. My bad. Well, I’m trying to do the right thing here and sort things out with you but you’re making that impossible because you insist on acting like a child!”

“Don’t get all high and mighty with me!” Draco hissed. “Doing the right thing? Since when has that ever factored into anything that you do? Oh, let me guess, the Weaslette sent you up here to talk to me, didn’t she?”

“Yeah, she did, actually,” Theo confirmed, glaring at Draco. “Pretty stupid idea, wasn’t it?”

“Pretty and stupid is the Weaslette in a nutshell,” he drawled, delighting at the angry vein pulsing at the side of Theo’s neck. “If I remember correctly, _you_ were the one who decided that we weren’t friends anymore. Now that you’re regretting your decision, you think that you can crawl over here and act as though nothing happened? Well, think again. I’d rather have no friends than bad ones.”

Theo gritted his teeth and turned away from Draco, muttering under his breath, “This was pointless…”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Draco pulled his own script out of his bag and opened it at a random page, pretending to find its contents more interesting than Theo’s furious expression. “Now if that’s all, kindly piss off so that I can get back to rehearsing in peace.”

Theo jumped to his feet and snatched his script off of the chair and glowered down at Draco, who stared hard at his own script without actually reading any of the words on the page.

“You’re one to talk about rumours,” said Theo darkly. “There’s been plenty of rumours flying around about you...and Potter.”

Draco felt his stomach drop at those words but he kept his expression impassive. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Theo smirked. “‘Course you don’t.” He leant closer to Draco and said quietly, “If you think that you two are being subtle, I hate to break it to you, but you’re about as subtle as an Erumpent in a china shop. People are already talking about you two, so it won’t take long for word to get back to your parents. I wonder what your father would have to say about that, eh?”

With those parting words, Theo stalked off, leaving Draco feeling sick to his stomach. He glanced around at his classmates, each of whom was busy doing their own thing—catching up on homework, rehearsing lines together, practising their dance moves and sword routines—and wondered who else knew about him and Harry. Surely they weren’t being _that_ obvious; they had been very careful not to be seen by anyone, not to touch each other too often in public...Oh Merlin, maybe they were being too nice to each other?

No. Theo didn’t know anything. He was only saying that he did because he was trying to get a rise out of Draco.

_Ginny knows,_ he reminded himself.

Would Ginny tell Theo? he wondered. Harry was adamant that she could be trusted, but then Draco had always thought Harry, by his very nature, was too trusting. _Saint Potter,_ he thought woefully. Always determined to see the good in everyone, even when there was none to be found. The fact that Harry was inexplicably attracted to Draco illustrated that perfectly.

Draco read through the draft letter to his mother again.

_I’ve made a new friend…_

Draco’s cheeks burned as he read the words and their true meaning. He scrunched up the letter before pulling a fresh piece of parchment from his school bag. Dipping his quill into the inkpot, he began writing a new letter, this time making no mention of his ‘new friend’: it was clear that any mention of Harry, even if it wasn’t by name, was too risky. When he had finished writing, he read the newer, much shorter letter and felt a sharp pang of guilt; it felt like a lie, not telling his mother about something—someone—so important to him. But then Draco’s life had been embroiled in secrets and lies for as long as he could remember. What harm would having one more do?

“Excellent performance today, everyone,” Liv’s voice carried all the way to the lofty balcony where Draco was sitting. “Let’s take a five-minute break before continuing, shall we?”

Looking relieved to get off stage, Harry sheathed his wooden sword and hurried towards the nearest balcony stairwell. Draco quickly shoved his letter into his school bag out of sight and opened his script before Harry could ask about what he had been writing. A minute later, Harry appeared, a big smile on his face as he flopped into the empty seat to Draco’s left.

“So, what did you think?”

“About what?” asked Draco mildly, lowering his script.

“My performance,” he pressed. “I got to swing my sword about for a bit today. Weren’t you watching?”

“No, I’d much rather see you swinging the real thing about,” Draco teased and Harry’s grin broadened.

“Well, hopefully we’ll get the chance to cross swords later tonight,” said Harry suggestively, resting his hand on Draco’s knee. Mindful of what Theo had said, Draco tensed and quickly glanced around to make sure that they were alone. Harry seemed to sense his apprehension and gave his leg a reassuring squeeze. “Nobody can see us up here. You don’t have to worry.”

“I’m not worried,” he lied, keeping his voice low. “I just prefer to be cautious.”

Harry nodded in understanding and gave Draco’s leg another slight squeeze before removing his hand completely. Draco had the overwhelming urge to grab Harry’s hand and kiss him hard on the mouth in front of everyone, to hell with the consequences. He wished that he were that brave. Instead, he neatly folded his hands on his lap and bowed his head.

“We’ll be lucky to have any time to ourselves tonight, what with all of the Halloween festivities,” he mused.

Harry’s face lit up again at the mention of the Halloween party. It surprised Draco how excited Harry was about it, considering he had already claimed that he hated big parties. In fact, everyone in Hogwarts seemed to be looking forward to it; Draco had overheard Professors Switch and Sprout discussing their costumes and Liv had dedicated a full week of lessons familiarising her students with Muggle horror films. Even the Slytherins, who usually made a conscious effort not to participate in pointless school activities such as these, had gotten into the spirit of things: Pansy had paraded around the Slytherin common room showing off her Cleopatra outfit while Professor Slughorn had heartily recited the Song of the Witches while the class had brewed Veritserum in the classroom.

“So, are you going to tell me what you’re dressing up as?” asked Harry for what must have been the hundredth time. Draco smirked and shook his head.

“It’s a surprise. You’ll just have to wait and see,” he teased.

“If I guess correctly, you have to tell me,” Harry looked thoughtful for a moment then his expression grew worried. “Oh god, you’re not dressing up like me, are you?”

Draco scoffed. “Certainly not! Merlin, you’re quite the narcissist, aren’t you? Besides, I’m supposed to be dressing up as someone from the Muggle world. Your magical abilities might be somewhat lacking in certain areas, but you’re no Muggle.”

Harry cocked his eyebrow at Draco. “I don’t know whether I should be insulted or flattered by that comment.”

“A little bit of both,” Draco quipped.

A sudden chorus of shouts and insults drew Harry and Draco’s attention away from each other and towards the stage where yet another argument had erupted between the Gryffindors and Slytherins. Harry groaned as he saw that this time, Ron and Theo were at the centre of the dispute; they stood inches apart, bellowing in each other’s faces and pointing their toy swords threateningly at one another while Liv tried to shout over them both to calm down. Harry slowly rose to his feet and gave Draco an apologetic look.

“I better get down there before they kill each other,” he sighed.

“Wouldn’t that be tragic,” said Draco sarcastically.

Harry rolled his eyes before turning and hurrying towards the stairwell. Suddenly, a loud _whack_ rang throughout the empty theatre quickly followed by a squeal of pain. Draco snapped his head back to the stage and laughed when he saw Ron hopping around on one leg, holding his foot.

“That is enough!” Liv bellowed, marching onto the stage and snatching the wooden sword from Theo’s hand. “We solve our disputes with words, Mr Nott, not wands or toy swords!”

“It was an accident,” Theo lied, an amused grin spread across his face. Ron’s face turned as red as his hair and he rounded on the cheeky Slytherin.

“You did it on purpose, you wanker!” he shouted.

“Language, Mr Weasley!” Liv warned.

Draco chuckled to himself as Theo continued to do a marvellous job winding up Ron. He thought about how he and Theo would laugh about it later but quickly reminded himself that they weren’t friends anymore. They had been friends for so long that he still had to stop himself from turning and chatting to Theo during classes or greet him during mealtimes. He told himself that it was merely a force of habit, but the truth was that he missed his friend. In an instant, his amusement had soured and he didn’t much feel like laughing anymore.

Sure, Theo had taken the first step to try and repair their friendship by offering an olive branch to Draco, but if Theo knew Draco at all, he should have realised his folly: he had hurt Draco’s pride and that was something that he always had trouble forgiving. Even though Draco desperately wanted to be friends with Theo again, his own stubbornness prevented him from forgiving and forgetting the slight against him; it just wasn’t the Malfoy way.

Sleeping with the enemy wasn’t ‘the Malfoy way’ either, yet he seemed to have no qualms about doing that, he reminded himself. Draco supposed that if he and Harry could get to a place where they not only tolerated one another but actually _liked_ each other, then there was still hope yet for him and Theo.

While Liv chastised Theo and Ron for their childish behaviour and dished out detentions for both of them, Draco opened up his script and focused on memorising his lines for real this time. He might not be as excited about the party as Harry was, but he was rather looking forward to spending the evening with Harry in public instead of hiding in broom cupboards and empty classrooms. Well, spending the evening together as friends, at least as far as everyone else was concerned. Which was fine. That’s what he wanted...wasn’t it?

After their lesson had ended, the students headed down to the Great Hall for their lunch. As it was All Hallow’s Eve, the house-elves went to the effort of making the feast extra spooky to celebrate the occasion: there were candied apples, of course, sugar mice and large chocolate cupcakes bewitched to look like bats that flapped overhead while everyone ate their lunch. A few of the students had tried to snatch one of the tasty confections out of mid-air but so far the bats had evaded capture, flying out of reach every time someone tried to grab one. At the centre of the table was a large platter of strawberry jelly fashioned to look like a human brain, which Draco thought looked far less appetising than the cupcakes. As he took his usual seat next to Harry at the Gryffindor table, Ron was still fuming about his altercation with Theo.

“I always thought you were a prat, Malfoy, but Nott is a hundred times worse,” he grumbled, aggressively spearing the Cumberland sausage on his plate. Draco chuckled and put a Jack-o'-Lantern pot pie on his own plate.

“Careful, Weasley, that almost sounded like a compliment,” he joked.

“I’m being serious!” said Ron hotly, glaring in Theo’s direction. “Look at him sitting there with that smug look on his stupid face. Who does he think he is?”

Draco followed Ron’s line of sight and realised what was really bothering him: sat next to Theo, laughing and chatting away to him, was Ginny. Ron’s eyes narrowed and he shook his head in disbelief.

“He really is a vile git. I mean, what do they even talk about?” he asked aloud to nobody in particular. “They’ve got nothing in common!”

“How would you know?” Hermione challenged. “You’ve never even attempted to get to know him.”

“I know enough,” he replied darkly.

“They actually have quite a lot in common, if you must know,” she continued. “They’re both big fans of the Holyhead Harpies—”

“Since when has Ginny supported the Harpies?” Ron scoffed.

“Since forever!” Hermione cried. “Why do you think she has posters of Gwenog Jones all over her bedroom walls?”

Ron shrugged. “I dunno, I never really gave it much thought.”

“Oh, what a surprise,” said Hermione under her breath.

“I thought Ginny supported the Chudley Cannons,” said Ron, sounding a little wounded.

“That’s _your_ favourite team, Ronald!” Hermione retorted. “It might surprise you to learn that your sister’s her own person; you’re not guaranteed to like all of the same things in life. That also goes for people she wants to spend time with and what team she supports. The sooner you learn that, the better.”

Ron looked flabbergasted at Hermione’s outburst. “Crikey, Mione, next you’ll be telling me that you don’t like the Chudley Cannons, either.”

“I don’t!” she raged. “I don’t even like Quidditch!”

Draco leant away from Ron and whispered in Harry’s ear, “Are they always like this?”

“All the time,” he sighed, taking a swig from his goblet. “They’ll kiss and make up later. They always do.”

Hermione and Ron’s argument was momentarily drowned out by a large bang and crackling sound. A few people yelped in surprise at the loud noise while a few others started laughing. Then there was another, louder bang. Draco scanned the room and it took him no time to find the source of the commotion: someone had set off fireworks at the Slytherin table. Several students were covering their heads with their hands while a few of them seemed to enjoy the display of colours exploding above them. It was a beautiful display as fiery sparks of vermillion, gold and silver whizzed across the Slytherin table and across the high ceiling. However, things quickly took a downward turn when someone attempted to vanish the fireworks.

The moment the Vanishing Spell struck them, there was an earth-shattering explosion and the fireworks transformed from harmless Catherine wheels and sparklers into an enormous, fire-breathing dragon. The screams of the students were drowned out by the roar of the flaming dragon as it soared across the Great Hall, its size so all-encompassing that all Draco could see was fire…

Suddenly, the room seemed to lurch and spin. It was like someone had simultaneously struck him over the head with a mallet and knocked the air out of his lungs, transporting him back into the Room of Requirement during the Battle of Hogwarts. Draco was gasping for air but he couldn’t catch his breath—all he could smell was gunpowder and burning and ash. Draco’s fear seemed to consume him entirely, just like the fire of the monstrous dragon consuming his vision, searing its brilliant light and vivacious colour onto his retinas. The terrifying possibility occurred to him then that perhaps he had never left that room, after all. Maybe the last few months had all been a hallucination and he was actually about to die. Just like Crabbe. Just like everyone else. Oh Godric, he was going to die…

Just as the edges of his vision began to darken, he felt a warm weight cover his body and a soothing voice whispered in his ear. “You’re okay, Draco, I’m here. Remember to breathe.”

The storm inside Draco’s head was still raging, his thoughts spinning and accelerating, telling him to run, that he was trapped and that he was going to die, but Harry’s voice was like an anchor dragging him back to shore and Draco hung onto it for dear life.

“That’s it,” said Harry encouragingly, rubbing his back. “Deep breaths, in and out, in and out…”

As Draco’s breaths began to slow and even out, he realised that he was on all fours on the floor of the Great Hall with Harry hunched over him like a protective shield. The dragon was gone, but the tincture of gunpowder lingered in the air. He was drenched in sweat and shaking like he’d just had a bucket of cold water thrown over him, but despite this, he tried to get back up onto his unsteady feet. Harry helped Draco back into the seat he had fallen out of and took the seat next to him, continuing to trace small circles across the bottom of his back.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

“I’m fine,” said Draco hoarsely, although he felt far from it. “What the bloody hell was that?”

“Weasleys’ Wildfire Whiz-bangs,” said Hermione mournfully. “One of Fred and George’s creations. Unlike most fireworks, when you attempt to vanish or stun them, they explode and multiply exponentially. Thank god Ron realised what they were, otherwise the entire hall could have gone up in flames.”

Draco looked around and finally took in the extent of the chaos around him. The hall was half empty—evidently, a few of the students had made a quick getaway when the dragon had appeared—and those that remained looked dazed and confused. Ron was across the room talking to Professor McGonagall, who looked angrier than Draco had ever seen her before. Liv sat at the high table with her head in her hands, crying as Hestia hugged her tightly. The house banners that normally adorned the walls of the Great Hall were scorched and the Slytherin one was completely burnt away. Where the Slytherin banner once hung proudly, a message had been burnt onto the stone wall in its place: _Slytherins and Death Eater Scum, This is your last warning. Leave now or you’ll be sorry! P.A._

Professor McGonagall strode to the centre of the room and, without the use of an Amplifying Charm, made sure her voice would be heard by every person in the room.

“Whoever the culprits are of this... _cruel_ and dangerous prank...you would do yourselves a favour by coming forward immediately. Because if you do not, I guarantee we will find out who you are and the punishment will be most severe,” she warned, her voice audibly shaking with anger. She scanned the room as though waiting for someone to raise their hand and admit responsibility, but nobody did. However unlikely that was to happen, she still looked disappointed.

“So be it.” With lightning speed, she drew her wand, pointed it at the smouldering graffiti on the wall and, with a flick of her wrist, the threatening message was gone and a new Slytherin banner unfurled. Stowing her wand back up her sleeve, she turned her sharp gaze onto the students and staff. “Well? Don’t you all have classes to attend?”

As everyone quickly dispersed from the Great Hall, Draco slung his school bag over his shoulder and moved as quickly as he could through the thronging crowd out of the hall, trying to put as much distance between him and Harry as possible. Struggling to keep pace, Harry called after Draco to wait, but Draco pretended that he couldn’t hear him and forged ahead. He still felt nauseous after what had just happened, but worse than that was the shame coursing through him for reacting that way to some harmless fireworks. What Harry must think of him…

Draco’s shame quickly turned into anger and frustration. He’d made a fool of himself in front of everyone and they’d never let him live it down. Without consciously thinking about where he was going, Draco’s feet carried him up the marble staircase along the second floor corridor towards the one place he’d felt safe within Hogwarts. When Draco burst into Myrtle’s bathroom, he found his spectral friend floating a few inches off of the ground reading a discarded magazine. She looked up sharply when the door flew open but her face broke out into a wide grin when she realised who it was.

“Draco, you’ve come to see me!” she squealed delightedly, floating up to Draco’s eye level. “Could you do me a favour and flip this magazine I’m reading over to the next page? I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve read the article about that Stubby Boardman fellow…”

Draco strode past her without saying a word. He beelined for one of the grimy sinks and spun the handle on one of the taps, collecting icy cold water in his hands and splashing it across his hot face. The cool water only provided a momentary relief and did nothing to still the maelstrom inside his own head.

“What’s the matter?” asked Myrtle concernedly, floating over to Draco’s side. “Has something happened?”

“I’m fine,” he croaked, pushing his sweat-soaked hair from his eyes. Myrtle, however, wouldn’t take the hint and moved closer, studying Draco from different angles.

“You don’t look fine,” she pressed. “In fact, you seem quite poorly. Do you have a fever? You should go see Madam Pomfrey and—”

_“I said I’m fine!”_ he snapped. “Stop trying to mother me and just leave me be.”

Myrtle gaped at Draco as though he had just slapped her across the face. “Who put a Glumbumble in your bonnet? I’m only trying to help!”

Draco glared at Myrtle’s reflection through the grubby mirror. “I know you think that you’re being helpful, but you’re not. The last person that I need health advice from is a dead person, so do yourself a favour and mind your own business for once, will you?”

He regretted the words as they came out of his mouth and he realised that, once again, he had let his temper get the better of him. Myrtle’s eyes widened with shock and welled with translucent tears. Guiltridden, Draco’s shoulders sagged and he turned to face her.

“Myrtle, I’m sorry—”

“No, you’re not!” she wailed. “You wouldn’t have said it if you didn’t mean it! You’re just like everyone else in this school: you’re only interested in me when you need me but once I’ve outlived my usefulness, you leave. They always leave in the end.”

With a final despairing cry, Myrtle reared upwards before diving headfirst into one of the toilets, splashing water all over the bathroom floor. Draco called after her but whether she didn’t hear or was ignoring him, she didn’t reappear. Draco cursed loudly and slammed the door of the nearest cubicle shut in a fit of temper. The door banged loudly before slowly swinging open again as though it were taunting him—Draco couldn’t get anything right today. He slumped against the wall and clamped his eyes shut, wishing that he was anywhere else in the world right now but here. There were only two people in the whole school who didn’t hate his guts, and he’d run away from one of them and insulted the other. Just brilliant.

“Draco?”

Slowly, Draco opened his eyes and found Harry standing before him. His expression was sombre but he kept his tone light, “I suppose I don’t need to ask how you’re doing.”

“Please don’t,” Draco groaned before adding, “Did you use that map of yours to find me?”

Harry shook his head and leant on the wall next to him. “I had a hunch you’d come here. Where’s Myrtle?”

“In the pipes somewhere.” Draco bowed his head in shame before admitting, “She knew that there was something up with me but when she tried to ask me about it, I lost my temper. I think I hurt her feelings.”

Harry sighed and rested his head on Draco’s shoulder. “I’m sure she’ll forgive you. I’d just give her a bit of time to cool off first before trying to talk to her again. She’s liable to try and drown you in toilet water if you tried speaking to her now.”

Draco huffed out a weak laugh. “Fair point.”

There was a protracted silence before Harry spoke up again, “I know that you don’t want to talk about what happened…”

“You’re right, I don’t,” Draco cut in. “So let’s just drop it, shall we?”

“Okay.”

Draco gritted his teeth in frustration and banged his head against the wall. There he was again, getting defensive and lashing out at anyone who tried to reach out to him. Theo was right—he was childish.

“I’m just…” Draco began to speak, stopped, sighed in frustration and stumbled over his words, but Harry waited patiently for him to say what he needed to say. “Do you know how it feels to be unsure of your own mind? Like you can’t even trust your own thoughts and feelings?”

Harry looked up at Draco then with a sincere expression. “I do, actually. Probably not in the same way that you mean, but I have some idea of what it feels like.”

“Really?”

Harry nodded. In a sad, twisted sort of way, hearing that made Draco feel a little better.

“It’s scary,” he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. “I feel like I’m not in control of anything—my future, my life...my mind. I hate it.”

“Tell me about it,” Harry agreed glumly. “It doesn’t help knowing that when you’re struggling to keep all of the pieces together, there’s a lot of people out there willing you to fail.”

“I can handle it most of the time—I’m used to everyone hating me—but sometimes it just gets a bit much.”

Harry looked absorbed in his own thoughts for a few moments before his eyes suddenly widened and a smile spread across his face. Grabbing Draco’s hand he gave it a slight tug.

“Come on. I have an idea.”

Draco groaned and pulled his hand free from Harry’s. “Whatever harebrained scheme you have this time, I’m really not in the mood for it.”

“It’s not a scheme,” Harry assured him. “It’s something that’ll make you feel better. Trust me.”

Reluctantly, he followed Harry out of the bathroom, curious what his boyfriend had planned, despite his protests. His curiosity piqued as they hurried through the winding corridors and up several flights of stairs in the direction of Gryffindor Tower. When they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, Draco presumed that Harry’s idea of making him feel better probably involved getting their kit off, but when they entered the deserted boys’ dormitory, Harry tossed his school bag onto the floor, threw open the trunk at the bottom of his bed, and pulled out his Firebolt.

“I haven’t had the chance to try it out yet,” he said, holding the broomstick out to Draco. Draco looked between the broomstick and Harry.

“You want me to ride it first?” he asked.

“I want to ride it with you,” said Harry. “You get to drive this time.”

Draco glanced out of the nearby window at the grey cloudy sky. It wasn’t great weather for flying, but then it never failed to lift his spirits. He smiled at Harry and took the proffered broomstick from his outstretched hand, but as he turned to exit the dormitory, Harry chuckled and grabbed his arm to stop him, “Oh no, we’ll be leaving Gryffindor Tower in style today.”

While Draco still preferred the Slytherin Dungeons, the fact that you could throw open Harry’s bedroom window and fly out from one of the castle’s highest towers was quite a thrill. Harry’s grip around Draco’s waist tightened as he flew faster and higher, his whoops of excitement carried away in the wind. Draco would never admit it—certainly not to Harry—but the Firebolt was much better than his Nimbus 2001; he was flying faster than he ever had done before, so fast that his hands slid across the smooth polished handle, but he gripped tighter and leant forward, pushing the broomstick to its limits. He felt like his eyes were being forced into the back of his head at the sudden acceleration, the cold air stung his cheeks and his heart hammered in his chest again, this time out of sheer exhilaration. He kept his gaze fixed straight ahead but everything was a blur. The grey of the school rushed into the white of the clouds as they reared upwards, disappearing through the chilly clouds and in an instant, Hogwarts was gone. Moments later, they punched through the other side of the clouds and he blinked rapidly as his eyes struggled to adjust to the crystal clear blue sky consuming his field of vision.

Draco slowed down before finally coming to a full stop so that they could admire the beautiful view before them. A sea of fluffy white clouds lay beneath their feet, shining in the brilliant sunlight like nascent snow, stretching to the horizon. Harry’s grip on Draco’s waist eased but he continued to hold him close, resting his chin on Draco’s shoulder.

“How are you feeling now?” he asked.

“Better,” Draco sighed, feeling tension he didn’t even know that he had been carrying in his body beginning to ease. Harry kissed his cheek and rested his head on Draco’s shoulder, and Draco felt a surge of affection and the beginnings of something else that he was afraid to even think about, let alone say out loud.

“When you do feel ready to talk, I’m here to listen.”

“I know,” Draco replied. “Thank you.”

That was all that they said on the matter as they fell into a comfortable silence. Draco understood why Harry liked to do this: it felt wonderful being able to escape from life, even if it was only for a little while.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said that it wouldn't be more than a month before I posted this chapter.
> 
> I lied. 
> 
> I really struggled writing this chapter but I didn't want to post it until I was satisfied with what I had written. So thank you everyone for being so patient waiting for this latest chapter, I hope that you all enjoy it!

Ron plopped the leafy garland on his head and sighed as his miserable reflection stared back at him in the mirror.

“I stand corrected—this is worse than my robes for the Yule Ball,” he declared mournfully.

“The costume isn’t that bad,” Harry offered kindly, scrutinising his own appearance in the mirror before giving his reflection a quick nod of approval. “I guarantee there’ll be crazier costumes than yours out there tonight.”

“I doubt that,” Ron mumbled under his breath, tugging at the clingy velour material. He turned to inspect the obscenely large glittery wings that completed the look and grimaced. “Urgh, this costume doesn’t even make sense! Hermione knows what fairies look like and it’s nothing like this.”

“Well, it is supposed to be a Muggle interpretation of fairies,” Harry reminded him. “You’ll get less grief if you just roll with it, mate.”

Ron grumbled something incoherent in response before he squared his shoulders and turned to face Harry. “Alright, I can’t think of any other way to improve this monstrosity. Let’s make tracks and get this over with.”

“Try not to get too excited about the party, Ron,” Harry joked as they exited the boys’ dormitory and made their way down the spiral staircase.

“Shut it or I’ll transfigure your outfit to look like mine,” Ron warned.

Harry chuckled but thought better than to continue winding up his best friend: he knew that Ron had been teased mercilessly from a young age for being too tall and gangly, his hand-me-down clothes, and flaming red hair. While he had grown into his looks over the years, his physical appearance had always been a sensitive topic of discussion and he still couldn’t help but take people’s opinions to heart.

Hermione, Ginny and Neville were waiting for them in the Gryffindor common room, already dressed in their costumes and ready to attend the evening’s festivities. Harry thought Neville looked quite dashing in his medieval suit of armour, while Ginny—sporting a brown bomber jacket, tan trousers and aviator goggles—looked impossibly cool in her Amelia Earhart costume. The three friends stopped chatting and turned as Harry and Ron appeared at the doorway. Hermione gasped when she caught sight of Ron and hurried over to his side.

“Oh Ron, you look _wonderful!”_ she beamed. Ron, however, looked less than convinced.

“You really think so?” he asked uncertainly.

“Oh yes, you look very regal with your crown. And quite handsome, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“I don’t mind that at all,” he grinned, looking instantly more relaxed than he had moments before. Hermione took a step back, extended her arms and turned on the spot.

“Well?” she inquired. “How do I look?”

Ron’s eyes grew impossibly large as he took in the sight of his girlfriend. While she wore the same style of fairy wings and garland as he did, she had paired it with an elegant floor length dress of silver silk. Her normally wild brown hair was styled into soft ringlets with little flowers braided throughout (Luna’s doing, Harry suspected), and her large, brown eyes were decorated with glitter eyeshadow.

“Wow Mione, you look really beautiful,” he replied before quickly adding, “I mean, not that you don’t always look beautiful...”

“Nice save, Ron,” Ginny joked but Hermione looked pleased by the sincerity of the compliment nonetheless. She hooked hers and Ron’s arms together and stood on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you,” she whispered before addressing her friends. “Shall we head down to the party?”

Ron walked arm in arm with Hermione out of Gryffindor Tower with his head held high. Clearly, it no longer mattered what anyone else thought of his costume so long as his girlfriend liked how he looked.

As the group of friends approached the Great Hall, the music within grew steadily louder. Harry thought there was something very strange about hearing Pulp echoing through the corridors of the magical institution, but based on the large number of students dancing in the centre of the room, it was proving to be very popular, even amongst those unfamiliar with the Muggle band.

“Ah, Luna’s already here,” said Neville cheerfully, waving to the person dancing on their own wearing what at first glance looked like a dinosaur costume. When Luna caught sight of Neville she stopped dancing abruptly and skipped over to her friends, grabbing hold of her beau’s outstretched hand.

“Hello, Harry,” she said dreamily. “I like your costume.”

“Thanks Luna, I like yours too.” He could just see Luna’s protuberant silvery eyes peering through the mouth of her costume. “Um...who are you supposed to be?”

“Saint George and the Dragon,” Neville explained. Luna tugged on two pull strings sewn into the arms of her costume and the large green, bat-like wings on her back began to flap.

“I’m the dragon,” she added unnecessarily.

“Ahh…” Harry grinned and nodded in understanding. He should have known Luna would think outside of the box when it came to choosing outfits for her and Neville. “I think you guys are in with a good chance of winning the prize for best couple’s costume.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Luna shrugged. “Professors Tonks and Jones’s costumes are also excellent. I think that they’ll probably win the top prize.”

Harry frowned. “They’re wearing a couple’s costume?”

“Of course,” Luna replied airily, pointing towards the seating area on the far left of the room. “They’re dressed as Aragorn and Arwen from _The Lord of the Rings._ Professor Tonks said that’s her favourite book.”

Harry craned his neck to look over the heads of the other students and, sure enough, his two professors were sat together in the corner, whispering and giggling conspiratorially with one another, seemingly oblivious to everyone else around them.

“Huh. I suppose that would explain why Professor Jones has been coming to watch our rehearsals so often,” said Ron thoughtfully. “And there was me thinking she was interested in the play.”

“I like your costume too, Ron,” said Luna. “Who are you dressed as? Oh! Is it the Tooth Fairy?”

Ron frowned. “The what now?”

“The Tooth Fairy,” Luna repeated. “Muggles believe that The Tooth Fairy comes at night and steals the teeth of their children while they sleep.”

Ron looked horrified at this explanation while Neville instinctively covered his mouth with his hand. While Hermione explained to Luna that the Tooth Fairy did not, in fact, leave children toothless, Ginny took the opportunity to slip away unnoticed to where Theo—dressed as an astronaut—stood waiting for her by the buffet table. While the rest of his friends took to the dancefloor, Harry sat at the side, watching the other students dance and amused himself trying to figure out what everyone’s costumes were. Dean and Seamus were sporting matching claret West Ham football strips while Blaise was surrounded by a group of girls admiring his form-fitting Mr Motivator leotard and bumbag. Harry smirked when he spotted one student clad in a Guy Fawkes costume subtly pouring some illicit liquid (Firewhisky, no doubt) into the punchbowl before quickly stashing the hip flask inside the folds of their cloak. Maybe he ought to have a little try of it himself, Harry thought to himself.

He was less amused when he spotted a couple of the younger students donning round spectacles and scars on their foreheads. If they thought that Harry would be flattered by their choice of costume, they were dead wrong. He was glad to have worn a mask tonight; no one apart from his closest friends seemed to have realised who he was and he was thoroughly enjoying being anonymous for the evening. The only thing that would make his night better would be if he had Draco by his side.

His eyes scanned across the room again searching for Draco but there was still no sign of him. Harry sank back into his seat, feeling disappointed. Despite what had happened earlier in the day, Draco had assured him that he would be here tonight, but it looked as though he had changed his mind. Harry resisted the temptation to pull out the Marauder’s Map and look for him. If Draco wanted to be here, he would turn up eventually.

“You look as glum as I feel,” said a dreary voice beside him. Harry turned and was surprised to find Myrtle sitting (well, floating in a seated position) in the chair next to him.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, drawing a sharp look from the somber spectre.

“What? Do I need your permission to attend school functions?” she replied testily.

“No, I just didn’t think you liked this sort of thing,” Harry explained. “Big crowds, loud music, people being cheerful…”

“Everything that I hate,” she agreed. “Well, I did pop along to Sir Nicholas’s Deathday Party for a bit, but then they all started complaining about how hungry they were. I got so bored listening to them whinging, so I thought I’d come check out what was happening up here instead.”

“And what’s your verdict on the Halloween party?”

“It’s rubbish here, too,” she groused. “Look at everyone enjoying themselves, laughing and joking away...it’s horrible.”

“A truly awful sight to behold,” Harry joked.

Myrtle sighed and turned to face Harry. “So what’s your excuse for looking so miserable?”

“I’m not miserable,” he argued. “I’m just waiting for Draco to turn up.”

Myrtle’s expression darkened. “Oh _him._ Well, after the way he spoke to me earlier today, I’d rather not be in his company any time soon.”

“Yeah, he told me what happened,” said Harry. “He feels really bad about what he said to you.”

“And so he should! My being dead is no laughing matter, yet he saw fit to mock me nonetheless,” Myrtle’s anger seemed to melt away as quickly as it had arisen. Her shoulders sagged and she sniffed loudly, wiping a transparent tear from her eye. “How could he say such an awful thing to me? I thought that we were friends.”

Harry thought carefully before speaking again, “Well, speaking from my own experience, friendships aren’t always easy or straightforward. You expect people that you don’t like to say horrible things about you, but you don’t really care what they think, do you? But when it’s your friends...well, they have the unique ability to hurt you the most; because they know everything about you, and they know exactly what words cut the deepest. Draco in particular, well...his sharp tongue is pretty infamous.”

“Yes, I think we both know that all too well,” Myrtle huffed.

“Sometimes being such close friends with someone can be a scary thing. It’s difficult allowing yourself to be that... _vulnerable_ with another person when you’re so used to being alone. Sure, sometimes they say stupid things that’ll hurt your feelings, but they’re also the first ones to stick up for you if anyone tries to hurt you. They’re the ones who stick with you through thick and thin. And they’re the first ones to forgive you when you hurt them, too.”

“So you think I should forgive Draco for what he said?” she asked.

“That’s entirely up to you.”

“But you two have managed to forgive each other for far worse indiscretions.”

Harry shrugged. “We’ve nearly killed each other on more than one occasion. Saved each other once or twice, too. If Draco and I can get to a place where we can forgive each other, I think there’s hope for your friendship with him yet.”

As Myrtle had listened, she had stopped crying. She gave Harry a hard look. “You’re too nice, you know that? And too forgiving for your own good.”

“Yeah, you’re not the first person to tell me that,” he sighed.

Myrtle looked thoughtful for a moment before relenting, “I suppose you’re right. I’m still angry at him for what he said...but I won’t try to drown him in toilet water if he decided to pay me a visit in my bathroom.”

“I’ll let him know,” Harry assured her.

“You’re smarter than you look.”

Harry snorted. “Thanks...I think.”

“I think I’ve had enough partying for one day. I’m just going to head back to my toilet and think about death.” Myrtle rose from her seated position and began to float away. “See you later, Harry.”

Harry waved Myrtle off and watched her drift away, taking care to avoid walking straight through any of the students. He suspected that the real reason that Myrtle had attended the party was to see Draco, but he was glad that he’d crossed paths with her first. Trying to take his own mind off of Draco for the time being, Harry decided that he would have some of that punch after all. He weaved his way through the crowd towards the buffet table pouring himself a ladleful of ruby red liquid into his goblet. Just as he was about to take a drink, he paused when a familiar voice whispered in his ear.

“You’re a hard man to find, Don Diego de la Vega. Or should I say...Zorro.”

Relief and excitement rose up in Harry then and he turned around to get a look at Draco’s costume for the first time. Sporting a white Stetson, black mask and red kerchief, Harry thought that his boyfriend made a very handsome cowboy. Draco also had a silver sheriff badge pinned to his chest that was not dissimilar to the Inquisitorial Squad badge that he used to wear.

“The Lone Ranger, I believe?” Harry guessed.

“Indeed,” Draco confirmed, tipping his hat to him. “You approve?”

Harry nodded. “You look great.”

“I know,” he agreed unabashedly, twirling a toy revolver in his hand. Harry smirked and rolled his eyes.

“Ever the humble man,” he chastised lightly. Draco’s smile broadened. He glanced around to make sure nobody was paying attention to them before he took a step closer to Harry.

“You don’t like me because I’m humble,” he said in a low voice. “You like me because I’m bad.”

“You’re not bad,” said Harry gently. “A bad influence, maybe…”

“Speak for yourself,” Draco chuckled. “You’re a wanted man, Zorro. There’s a large bounty on your head. I ought to slap some cuffs on you and collect the reward."

“Is that a promise?” Harry replied silkily. Draco’s smile grew licentious.

 _“Now_ who’s the bad influence?” he teased. “Your list of crimes are as long as my arm: Lewd conduct. Public nudity. Solicitation…”

Harry tutted. “It sounds like I’ve been a very bad boy, Sheriff. Perhaps we can come to some sort of arrangement?”

“Maybe,” said Draco interestedly. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

Harry raised his goblet. “We could start with a drink?”

Draco looked thoughtful for a moment as though he were seriously considering Harry’s proposal before giving a curt nod. “It’s a good start. We can work out the finer details of this arrangement later in the evening.”

Harry poured a large drink for Draco and handed him the goblet. “So, what inspired you to dress up as the Lone Ranger?”

“Same reason you decided to dress up as Zorro,” he shrugged. “The anonymity that comes with wearing a mask is nice. And these Muggle wands are fascinating.”

Draco drew his toy pistol and pointed it across the room, pulled the trigger and a small red flag with the word ‘BANG’ emblazoned across it popped out of the muzzle.

“May I ask why you two gentlemen are loitering around the punch bowl?” came a sharp, authoritative voice.

Harry and Draco turned to see Professor McGonagall dressed as Mary, Queen of Scots, looming over them.

“Nothing, Professor, we were just grabbing ourselves a drink,” Harry explained.

The tension in Professor McGonagall’s stance immediately eased when she recognised Harry’s voice. “Ah, it’s you, Mr Potter. I didn’t recognise you in your costume.”

“Thanks, that’s sort of why I picked it,” he laughed. Professor McGonagall gave him a sad smile at those words.

“Yes, I can appreciate why you’d enjoy nobody recognising you for an evening,” she said gently before turning her attention to Draco. “Mr Weasley, I presume?”

“Not quite, Ma’am,” Draco replied, smirking at the shocked expression on Professor McGonagall’s face.

“Mr Malfoy?” she asked. She looked between the two former enemies and shook her head. “Well, you gentlemen certainly keep unexpected company these days.”

“Times have changed, Professor.” Harry drew Draco a coy smile. “So much has happened in the last couple of years that it seemed silly to hold onto old grudges. Everyone deserves a fresh start.”

Professor McGonagall’s eyes widened with surprise at those words but then she smiled fondly at Harry. “Very wise words, Mr Potter, and I quite agree. Still, it would be remiss of me to see two serial mischief-makers in such close proximity to one another and not remind you both that misbehaviour, tricks or stunts of any kind will not be tolerated, particularly after what happened earlier today. I’ve already had to confiscate alcohol and fireworks from a number of students.”

“Don’t worry, Professor, I’ll make sure Potter behaves himself,” Draco simpered, earning himself an annoyed glance from Harry.

Professor McGonagall’s eyes narrowed. “No shenanigans from either of you. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Professor,” they replied in unison.

With a brisk nod, Professor McGonagall wished them both a good evening and strode off to stop two of the younger students from lobbing candied apples at one another.

“That comment about shenanigans was definitely directed at you,” said Draco.

“Like you’re any better,” Harry shot back and Draco chuckled.

“I’m just better at not getting caught,” he countered.

Since neither of them felt like dancing, Harry and Draco sat at one of the free tables and chatted with one another for a while. Harry enjoyed explaining which Muggle bands and singers were playing and was surprised when Draco said that he quite liked The Spice Girls when one of their tracks started to play.

“Of course, they’re not as good as The Weird Sisters,” he drawled. “Or as good looking, I imagine.”

“If you think Myron Wagtail’s hot, wait ‘til you see Stephen Gately,” Harry smirked. “Unless you prefer blonds?”

“I am partial to a blond on occasion...but there is one brunette in particular that I’ve had my eye on,” Draco teased, smiling at Harry over the rim of his goblet. He took a sip of his drink and glanced thoughtfully at Harry for a few moments before speaking again.

“I’m surprised that you were so excited about tonight,” he mused. “You must have been to Muggle parties before?”

Harry’s smile faltered a little. “Umm, not really. Actually, this is the first time I’ve ever got to dress up for Halloween.”

Draco frowned. “Really? I thought it was customary for Muggles to dress up and go Tricking.”

“Trick or Treating,” Harry corrected him. “Although, knowing you, there would be more tricking than treating going on. But no, I wasn’t allowed to do things like that when I lived with the Dursleys.”

The corner of Draco’s mouth twitched slightly and his eyes narrowed. “Ah yes. The Dursleys…”

Draco took another sip from his goblet. Harry felt his stomach twist uncomfortably thinking about his aunt and uncle. He didn’t talk much about them to anyone, even Ron and Hermione knew very little of his life at Privet Drive. Remembering how they treated him over the years was a great source of shame and embarrassment for Harry, and as far as he was concerned, the less people that knew, the better; because the less people that knew what it was like, the easier it would be for him to pretend that it had never happened. He rather hoped that if he just didn’t think about them, that maybe one day he would be able to forget about his time at Privet Drive entirely. But the nightmares were persistent, and Draco had spent more than enough time wandering through Harry’s memories to know what it was really like for him living there. Still, Draco had never mentioned what he had seen, which Harry greatly appreciated. But based on the dark expression on Draco’s face at the mere mention of his aunt and uncle, it was clear that he knew a great deal more than he was letting on.

“I always wondered where you went during the summer holidays,” Draco continued conversationally. “I thought that you spent your time being trained by Dumbledore.”

“Believe me, that would have been preferable,” said Harry grimly.

Draco carefully placed his empty goblet onto the table. “Well, I’m hoping that the festivities are living up to your expectations. It is a strange custom, dressing up as monsters to chase away evil spirits. Not a very effective defence against Dementors or Lethifolds though, is it?”

“Not really,” Harry agreed before smiling at Draco. “Still, it’s a good laugh, isn’t it?”

Draco snorted. “That’s a matter of opinion. But you know what _would_ be fun?”

“What?”

A sly smile spread across his face. “Sneaking off somewhere quiet so that I can have my way with you.”

Harry thought that was a brilliant idea. He abandoned his drink and followed Draco out of the Great Hall towards the front entrance. The cool night air had a bite to it and Harry shivered involuntarily as they exited the front doors of the castle. Without prompting, Draco quickly drew his wand and cast a warming charm on both of them. Harry sighed and felt the tension in his muscles ease as warmth washed over him like an invisible blanket.

As they made their way down the front steps, they found themselves surrounded by a fake graveyard, complete with plastic headstones, bushes covered in fake cobwebs, and large statues of ghoulish monsters from Muggle folklore. There were a few students and teachers dotted about the grounds and graveyard. Professors Switch and Flitwick laughed as they played with Muggle sparklers, writing their names through the air, while a large crowd whooped and hollered as The Headless Hunt played a game of Head Polo for the students’ amusement. Harry and Draco walked past a small group of first-years who were participating in the spooky scavenger hunt. They were—rather foolishly, in Harry’s opinion—scouring the grounds for Mrs Norris, who from what he could overhear, had a clue attached to her collar. Draco and Harry hurried past all of them and set off down one of the winding paths, past one of the large bushes where some suspicious giggling was emanating.

“Sounds like someone’s having fun.” Draco cast a flirtatious glance at Harry. “Fancy taking a tumble in the bushes with me?”

Harry grinned and, after checking that the coast was clear, grabbed Draco’s hand and pulled him towards what looked like an ancient, gnarled willow tree, except this one had cherry blossom pink branches and green leaves with red spots. They pushed their way through the low-hanging curtain of branches, letting the leaves fall back into place and obscuring them from any prying eyes.

“This’ll give us more privacy than a bush,” said Harry, turning to face Draco.

He let out a small gasp of surprise as Draco pushed him against the rough bark of the tree, his expression now predatory. Keeping his hand firmly against the centre of Harry’s chest, Draco quickly discarded his hat onto the ground before carefully slipping his knee between Harry’s legs, deliberately brushing his thigh against Harry’s prominent erection. Harry’s eyelids fluttered in response and he pressed his hips more firmly against Draco’s leg.

“Are you going to arrest me now, Sheriff?” he joked.

“I’m going to frisk you first,” Draco purred, sliding his hands over Harry’s waist and nuzzling his exposed neck. Harry closed his eyes and pulled Draco closer, wrapping his arms around Draco’s neck before hooking his leg around Draco’s leg to increase the friction. Despite a bumpy start to the day, this was working out to be the best Halloween ever. Suddenly, Harry heard giggling coming from nearby and he stilled, listening intently for the source of the noise.

“Do you hear that?” he whispered.

“Hmm?” Draco hummed, seemingly unperturbed by the threat of someone spying on them.

“I can hear someone laughing,” said Harry, pulling away from Draco, but Draco just laughed.

“It’s the tree that’s laughing, you plum,” he chastised lightly. Rolling his eyes at the confused expression on Harry’s face, he explained, “This is an Alihotsy tree; you use the leaves to brew a laughing potion.”

The tension in Harry’s body eased a little. “Oh, right.”

“When the wind blows through the leaves, you can hear them laugh. And if you listen closely enough, you can hear them talk to each other, too,” he murmured, pressing a lazy kiss to Harry’s neck.

“Really?” Harry’s breath hitched and his eyes rolled to the back of his head as Draco sucked on the sensitive spot on his throat. “W-what do you think they’re saying?”

“Hmm…” Draco drew back to look Harry up and down with an expression of sheer reverence. “You’re stunning to look at, you know that?”

Harry laughed. “That’s what the tree’s saying, is it?”

“No. I am.”

Draco’s expression was quite serious all of a sudden and Harry felt as though the air had been pulled from his lungs. Although he knew that Draco liked him (that much was obvious, even to Harry), he was so used to Draco’s flirtatious teasing that the sincerity of the statement took him aback somewhat. Draco’s eyes slid shut as Harry carded his fingers through his hair and pulled him closer again, kissing him gently at first, trying to convey in a kiss how much he cared about Draco because he didn’t have the words. There was a strong gust of wind then and as the branches swayed in the breeze, the tree seemed to sigh contentedly as Draco and Harry kissed each other soundly beneath it. Draco left a trail of gentle bites and open-mouthed kisses down Harry’s neck causing the pleasant ache between his legs to grow more intense and he moaned, rutting against Draco’s leg.

“You’re going to get us caught,” Draco quietly chastised, although he made no attempt to stop his ministrations.

Harry wanted to say that he didn’t give a shit if they got caught, but he managed to suggest they cast a Silencing Charm before he pulled Draco in for another kiss. He could feel Draco smile against his lips, and in response, he slid his hand off of Harry’s hip to cup his erection, giving it a firm rub through the soft cotton of his trousers. Harry let out a soft moan of approval and let his own hands roam lower, sliding under the hem of Draco’s shirt and dragging his nails across the soft flesh of his back, making Draco shiver.

Breaking the kiss, Draco experimentally nipped Harry’s plump bottom lip. That sent a pleasant spark of pain and pleasure straight to Harry’s groin and he instinctively tightened his grip on Draco’s lower back, digging his fingers into his soft skin.

“You like that, don’t you?” Draco teased, his voice low and rough as he gave Harry’s cock a tight squeeze. Harry groaned and nodded helplessly, unable to form words. “Yeah? How about this?”

Draco slipped his hand beneath Harry’s trousers and boxers, taking the hot, firm flesh of Harry’s cock into his hand and swiping his thumb over the wet tip. Harry’s response was immediate; his breath stuttered and he clamped his eyes shut, pressing his forehead into Draco’s shoulder.

“Fuck…”

“Mmm, I thought you’d like that,” Draco whispered, very slowly and deliberately running his hand along the full length of Harry’s shaft, delighting at the shaky gasp that escaped Harry’s lips as he twisted his wrist on the upstroke. “You’ve no idea how amazing you look right now, Harry. So hot. So fuckable…”

“Oh god, keep talking like that and I’m gonna blow my load,” Harry warned, already panting for breath.

Far from deterring Draco, he increased his pace. Harry felt his legs begin to buckle as the build-up of pleasure spread from his groin and through his body.

“You like it when I talk like this too, don’t you?” said Draco, his voice full of want. “There are so many things I could tell you, Harry. Would you like to hear about how I lie in bed every night, playing with myself and thinking of you?”

“Oh god, yes,” Harry gasped, thrusting his hips forward into Draco’s tight fist. “Tell me, please…”

“I take a firm hold of my hard cock and imagine that you’re on top of me, sinking your tight little hole onto my cock,” he purred. “Would you like that?”

“Fuck yes,” Harry panted, a surge of arousal coursing through him at the thought of Draco pleasuring himself, thinking of him.

“Sometimes, I like to finger myself and imagine you’re the one fucking me,” said Draco roughly, increasing his grip around Harry. “I think about you bending me over a desk and pounding into me until I cum without touching my prick.”

“Holy shit,” Harry’s head was swimming now, his breaths becoming increasingly laboured as he edged closer towards the point of no return.

“I’ve fantasised about it for so long, Harry. Long before we kissed, before I even realised that I had feelings for you,” Draco admitted, his hand relentlessly stroking Harry’s slick prick back and forth. “I’ve wanted you for so long, I couldn’t believe that you would want me, too. I still can’t believe it sometimes. I just want to give you everything, Harry. Everything of me…”

“Draco…” Harry whimpered. The pleasure of his impending orgasm was creeping up his spine into his chest, catching his breath. He wasn’t going to last much longer. Draco pressed their foreheads together and they locked eyes, smoky grey on emerald green, dark with desire.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he breathed, the stream of praising words pouring from his lips like a broken faucet as he stroked Harry closer and closer to orgasm. “With your perfect, messy hair and your smile. I love it when you laugh at my jokes. I love the way you moan when you cum...and your _eyes,_ god I love your eyes...I love everything about you, Harry. Oh god, I think I love you, too…”

Harry didn’t quite register what Draco had said because stars exploded across his vision at that moment as though a firework had gone off behind his eyes. He canted his head back, bumping it against the tree trunk, and came in a long, exhaled groan as his hands clawed Draco’s back and Draco pulled him in for a messy kiss. As Harry began to come down from the dizzying high of his orgasm, Draco’s words finally began to sink in. Harry pulled Draco into a hug and gently stroked his hair while Draco kept his face buried into the crook of Harry’s neck, unwilling to look him in the eye.

“Did you mean what you said?” he asked.

His voice was barely above a whisper and he was afraid of how Draco would answer. He suspected that he had just gotten carried away in the moment, but if Draco did feel that way...the thought scared Harry as much as it excited him.

“Yes,” Draco mumbled, his voice barely audible. “I don’t know why I told you that. I shouldn’t have told you that...”

Draco sounded ashamed at his admission, but Harry cupped him by the cheeks and forced Draco to meet his gaze. “Well, I’m glad that you did.”

“...But you don’t feel the same way.”

“I didn’t say that,” Harry replied quickly. “It’s just...I’m surprised that you’re being so candid about your feelings, is all. Usually, it’s like getting blood from a stone.”

Draco gave Harry a searching look. “So, how do you feel about me?”

Harry closed his eyes and kissed Draco again before whispering against his lips, “I think I love you too.”

Draco let out a strangled sound, somewhere between laughter and a sob of relief, and he kissed him back, clutching Harry’s hands that remained on either side of his face. There was something desperate about the way that they held each other now. Suddenly, this indefinable thing between them felt much more solid, far more tangible—and at the same time, infinitely more precious and fragile than what it had been only moments before.

Their moment of perfect solitude was suddenly interrupted by loud voices coming from the direction of the Black Lake. Harry and Draco broke their kiss and listened closely as the voices grew steadily closer to where they were hiding, and they both hoped that whoever it was would keep on walking by. Suddenly remembering that his trousers were still undone, Harry quickly spelled away the semen and fought with his zipper while Draco peaked out of the leafy canopy to see what the source of the commotion was.

“It’s Weasley,” he whispered over his shoulder. “He’s arguing with Ginny and Theo.”

 _“What?”_ Harry hastily tucked his shirt back into his trousers and hurried over to Draco’s side to take a look for himself. “Bugger. I worried that this might happen.”

Ginny was hand in hand with Theo, her face like thunder while Ron marched after them both, calling for his sister to stop walking away from him. Harry spotted Hermione a short distance away, hobbling after them in her high heels.

“There’s nothing to talk about!” Ginny cried over her shoulder without slowing her pace.

“There’s plenty to talk about!” Ron exclaimed. “I just stumbled across you in the bushes with this...this…”

Ginny suddenly stopped dead in her tracks and rounded on her brother. “You just _happened_ to stumble across me in a bush with my boyfriend? I find that highly unlikely!”

 _“Boyfriend?”_ Ron cried, aghast.

“What’s more likely is that you were looking for me because you knew that we’d be together,” said Ginny accusingly.

“I wasn’t following you! I’ll have you know that I was looking for my _own_ bush, thank you very much!” Ron shot back. “Believe me, the last thing that I wanted to see was _this_ wanker—” Ron gestured wildly at Theo, who rolled his eyes. “—groping my sister!”

“Leave her alone, Weasley,” Theo warned. “She doesn’t want to talk to you right now.”

“You stay out of this, Nott!” Ron snapped. “This is none of your business.”

“This”—Ginny gesticulated between her and Theo—“is none of your business, _Ronald._ Let’s get one thing clear: who I like and who I choose to spend time with is none of your business. End of story.”

“Like hell, it isn’t! You’re my sister and I don’t like you seeing him.”

Harry took a step back then and turned to Draco. “I don’t feel comfortable listening to this. Let’s get out of here before they find us.”

“In a minute,” Draco replied distractedly, a small frown forming on his forehead. “I want to keep listening.”

“Why?”

“Because it interests me and I enjoy watching Weasley get angry,” he admitted, unable to tear his eyes away from the trio as their argument grew more heated.

Harry gritted his teeth in frustration at Draco rejecting his advice to leave. He considered heading back up to the castle on his own, but instead, he moved back to Draco’s side and peered through the canopy of leaves again. Against his better judgement, he was interested to see what would happen, too. Hermione had finally managed to catch up to them and was trying to calm Ron down while he and Theo squared up to one another. Ginny looked livid as both boys threw a slew of insults at one another, practically nose to nose as they jabbed each other in the chest with their index fingers. As things took a more personal turn (Theo began ridiculing Ron’s costume so Ron started mocking Slytherin house), Harry glanced nervously at Draco who was getting more visibly angry with each passing insult.

“Stop it!” Hermione cried, pulling Ron away while Ginny stood in front of Theo as though shielding him. “Please, just stop fighting with each other.”

“He started it,” Ron huffed.

“Why?” Ginny challenged. “Why do you hate Theo so much when you don’t even know him?”

“I don’t hate him,” Ron argued.

“Then what is your problem?”

“He's not good enough for you!” he cried, pointing accusingly at Theo. “He’s a no-good Death Eater and I trust him as far as I could throw him. _That’s_ what my problem is.”

“Alright, I’ve listened to enough of this,” Draco growled. He began to push his way through the leafy branches of the Alihotsy tree, but Harry grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back.

“What are you doing?” he hissed.

“Weasley has no right to say those things about Theo,” Draco snarled. “He knows nothing about him!”

“I know that, but if you go bursting out there in the middle of their argument, you’re going to have to explain why we’re hiding under a tree together!” Harry reminded him.

“I don’t care!” Draco declared. Just then, Draco’s expression morphed from one of frustration to realisation. “I mean... _really_ don’t care what they think.”

He sounded surprised, almost in awe of himself that this could be true. The argument continued to rage on just beyond the leafy canopy but Harry paid it no mind.

“You really want to tell them about us?” he asked uncertainly. “Because yesterday you didn’t seem all that keen. Don’t get me wrong, I understand why, and I’d love to tell them about us, but...Draco, what’s the matter?”

Draco shook his head. “I don’t know. But I suddenly have the overwhelming compulsion to speak every thought that enters my head.” Draco frowned and turned to Harry. “That is weird, isn’t it?”

Harry didn’t know what to say to that. Harry suddenly realised then that the shouting had grown quieter. He peered out of the canopy again to see his friends heading back towards the castle, the argument still in full swing. He turned back to Draco to tell him that the coast was clear, but Draco was staring off into the distance at nothing in particular, his expression serious. Harry gave him a light shake to get his attention.

“Draco, what’s wrong?” he asked again, feeling a stab of panic rise up in him at Draco’s odd behaviour. Draco seemed to snap out of his trance and his eyes flitted towards Harry’s.

“Ask me a question,” he demanded. “Something simple. Factual.”

Harry’s eyes widened with surprise at the strange request. Whatever he thought Draco was going to say after a tentative declaration of love, it wasn’t that.

“Okay, umm...what are Slytherin’s house colours?”

Harry grew even more alarmed when Draco gritted his teeth and screwed his face up in concentration, trying and failing to answer the question. “Rrrr…rrrrr…RRR— GREEN. Slytherin’s colours are green and silver. Fuck.”

Draco looked exhausted from the sheer effort of saying one simple word. Harry stared at him. “What the hell was that all about?”

Draco looked up at Harry, his expression now one of panic and confusion. “I can’t lie.”

Harry frowned. “What?”

“I can’t lie,” Draco repeated, sounding more distressed. “I tried to lie about the colours of Slytherin house but I couldn’t.”

Harry felt his stomach sink. “Shit. Do you think someone’s hexed you?”

Draco roughly ran his hand through his hair and shook his head. “I don’t know...it could be a number of things. What am I going to do?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Harry grabbed Draco’s hand and pulled him through the low-hanging branches of the Alihotsy tree and back towards the castle. “We’re going to see Madam Pomfrey. Just don’t talk to anyone on the way.”

“Oh, give me some credit, Harry!” he snapped. “I’ve been hexed to tell the truth, I haven’t developed a sudden bout of incurable stupidity!”

Harry pursed his lips and rolled his eyes. It was good to know that whatever was wrong with Draco, it hadn’t dulled the sharpness of his tongue.

“I saw that!” Draco cried accusingly as Harry marched him past the fake graveyard towards the main entrance. “I saw you roll your eyes at me.”

“I didn’t roll my eyes at you,” Harry lied. “Maybe you’re seeing things, too.”

“We both know my eyesight is infinitely better than yours. Honestly, my life could be in danger and you’re rolling your eyes at me! Where’s your sense of compassion? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that you were enjoying this...”

As Draco continued his rant, Harry was suddenly thrown back to the first day of term when he and Draco had bickered with each other in much the same way as they were now as they climbed the stone steps of the castle into the Entrance Hall. Harry had less of a compulsion to hex Draco this time around—but only slightly.

Harry made to bypass the Halloween party for the Grand Staircase, but the noise within made both he and Draco pause. The music was no longer playing and there was a lot of shouting and screaming pouring out of the Great Hall. Harry and Draco shared a concerned look before they both hurried over to see what was happening. As they pushed open one of the heavy doors to the Great Hall, the sight that met them was one of absolute chaos: the room was packed with students and teachers, and it seemed like everyone was either shouting or crying. Several people had both hands covering their mouths but seemed unable to stop talking, their eyes wide with alarm.

“What the hell is going on?” asked Draco aloud as Harry scanned the room for his friends. He spotted Ron and the others near the centre of the room; Ron was now red in the face as he and Ginny screamed at each other while Hermione appeared to be babbling incoherently, tears streaming down her face as she did so.

“Wait here,” said Harry, closing the door on the bemused-looking face of his boyfriend. As he pushed his way through the thronging crowd, he caught snippets of odd conversations and bizarre confessionals.

“My grandmother wasn’t sick,” Jimmy Peakes shamefully admitted to Ritchie Cootes. “I bailed on you because I had a date with Sophie Roper and I didn’t want to miss it.”

“I ate a Puking Pastille and I crapped my pants,” cried Romilda Vane, hiding her face in her hands.

“I tried to _Engorgio_ my penis and ended up in St Mungo’s over the summer holidays,” Nigel Wolpert blurted out, looking mortified as he did so.

“I can’t speak Mermish. I only told you that because I was trying to impress you,” Harry heard someone else confess.

“—the only way I can sleep without nightmares is taking Sleeping Draught,” another student admitted. “I think I have a problem…”

“—I saw Lavender die and I didn’t do anything to help,” sobbed Parvati onto Padma’s shoulder. “I could have helped but I was too scared to move!”

“—I don’t know how to tell my parents—”

“—I’m scared all of the time—”

_“—I hate you—”_

“—I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU—”

It was clear that whatever was wrong with Draco had spread like wildfire, and it seemed like everyone in the school was affected. Even some of the teachers appeared to have been affected too as several members of staff ran past with their hands over their mouths. Everyone was suffering from the effects of the mysterious hex...everyone except Harry, for some reason.

While chaos reigned, Peeves flew overhead, laughing maniacally as he revelled in the turmoil unfolding below. When Harry finally managed to reach his friends, he called out to them to get their attention and their heads snapped towards him. Ginny’s eyes welled with tears and Ron looked absolutely livid.

“Harry!” Ginny shouted, rushing towards him. “Harry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to tell him—”

“Is it true?” Ron cut in, rounding on Harry. “You and Malfoy…”

Harry’s stomach dropped. “W-what?”

“You wouldn’t,” Ron stammered. “I mean, you’re not even gay! Tell me she’s lying, Harry.”

Harry turned to Ginny and gaped at her. _“You told him?”_

“I didn’t mean to,” she pleaded. “It just came out, I couldn’t help it.”

Ron looked as though he had been slapped across the face. “So it’s true? You and _him?”_

“Ron, now isn’t the time to talk about this,” Harry rushed. “Something is seriously wrong here. I think everyone’s been poisoned or cursed or…”

“—I hate Hagrid’s rock cakes!” Hermione blabbered uncontrollably. “And his treacle tarts are even worse! Oh my god, _what is happening?”_

“How could you?” Ron cried. “How could you break up with my sister for Malfoy, of all people?”

“It wasn’t like that!” Harry argued.

“Then what was it like?” Ron shouted. “First Ginny and Nott, now you and Malfoy? Has everyone lost their minds?!”

Harry pleaded with Ron to calm down and listen to him, that there were things of more immediate importance to worry about right then than his relationship with Draco. But Ron, like everyone else who had been affected, seemed apoplectic with rage. As the screams and shouts rose into a deafening crescendo, Professor McGonagall suddenly appeared at the top of the hall and cast her wand in a wide arc above everyone’s heads.

_“LANGLOCK!”_

The moment the words had passed her lips, the entire room was instantly rendered mute. Harry gasped and instinctively clutched his throat as his tongue was suddenly glued to the roof of his mouth. Several other people around him did the same thing, eyes wide with shock as their mouths kept opening and closing of their own accord like a goldfish gulping for air. Professor McGonagall’s wand fell by her side and she cast her sharp gaze across everyone in the room.

“Everyone remain calm!” she ordered. “We will not solve this by screaming and shouting at each other like banshees. While we do not yet know the source of this commotion or the culprits involved, I assure you, this will be dealt with swiftly and severely. For the time being, you will all calmly and _quietly_ exit the hall and make your way to the Hospital Wing. Is that clear?”

The students nodded mutely and everyone slowly began to file out of the Great Hall towards the Grand Staircase in the direction of the Hospital Wing. Harry reached out and grabbed Ron by the shoulder, but Ron shrugged him off and marched ahead on his own. Harry stared after him, unable to cry out after him, unable to apologise for keeping secrets from him when they both swore that they never would. Just then, Ginny cautiously tugged his arm and mouthed “I’m so sorry” again, but Harry just shrugged and fixed a forced smile to his face before mouthing “it’s okay” back to her. He couldn’t be angry at her: he knew that she would never have purposefully broken his trust like that. No, he was angry at himself. Angry at himself and the person who had done this to everyone. As Harry exited the Great Hall, he saw Draco stood at the foot of the staircase waiting for him.

“What’s happening?” he asked, pulling Harry aside. “Does McGonagall know what’s going on?”

Harry pointed at his mouth and shook his head. It took Draco a moment to realise what Harry was trying to say before he whipped out his wand and pointed it at him.

_“Finite Incantatem.”_

Harry let out a sigh of relief as his tongue detached from the roof of his mouth. “Thank you.”

“So, what did McGonagall say?” asked Draco again, pocketing his wand. “Does she know what’s wrong with everyone?”

Harry shook his head. “Everyone’s to report to the Hospital Wing. If anyone can fix this, it’s Madam Pomfrey.”

“And if she can’t?”

“Then St Mungo’s is going to be inundated with patients.”

Draco cursed and shook his head. “I bet it was that fucking P.A. that did this, whoever they are! When they said that we’d all be sorry, they weren’t joking, were they?”

“No, they weren’t,” said Harry darkly, climbing the Grand Staircase with Draco by his side. “What I don’t understand is how everyone else seems to be affected except for me.”

“McGonagall didn’t look like she’d been affected either,” Draco noted. “And some people’s symptoms appear to be worse than others. I’ve seen some people babbling absolute nonsense, other people seem more aggressive...it just doesn’t make any sense.”

“Yeah, you seem fine,” said Harry curiously. “Apart from the fact that you can’t lie, of course. I wonder why you’re less affected than the others?”

“I don’t know. But don’t even think about taking advantage of me in my vulnerable state,” Draco warned. “I don’t want you asking me any embarrassing questions.”

“I won’t,” Harry assured him. “What happened tonight isn’t funny. I overheard people confessing all sorts of things—private stuff. People are going to need counselling after this.”

Draco sighed and shook his head. “It’s a real shame, and the evening started out so pleasant. I had a great time under the tree grabbing your—”

Harry quickly covered Draco’s mouth with his hand before he could blurt out to curious passersby exactly what they had gotten up to earlier in the evening. Draco drew Harry an apologetic look and slowly Harry moved his hand away.

“Evidently, I’m more affected than I thought,” Draco mused.

“Probably better if you don’t say anything from now on,” Harry suggested. “Just in case you say something that you’ll later regret.”

Draco scowled but he kept his mouth shut and nodded. He, Harry and the rest of the students walked in eerie silence towards the Hospital Wing. The only sound that they made was their shoes scuffing against the old stone floor. While this had been far from the worst Halloween that Harry had ever experienced—as Draco rightly said, the start of the evening had actually been very pleasant—it would probably be the one that everyone else would be keen to forget.


	25. Chapter 25

Draco looked up and down the long line of chairs that had been placed along the corridor outside of the Hospital Wing. Hours had passed since students and staff alike had been sent here to be diagnosed and receive treatment for the hex that seemed to have spread to almost everyone in the school. But with only Madam Pomfrey fit enough —or indeed, qualified—to treat anyone, progress was moving at a torturously slow pace. Students and professors sat in the stiff wooden chairs waiting for their turn to be seen. Since nobody could talk, the only sound was people sighing impatiently and the creak of the chairs as their occupants struggled to get comfortable. Every so often, the Hospital Wing door would squeak loudly as it swung open and the Matron’s haggard face would pop out in order to call in the next three or four names of patients to be treated.

“Finnigan. Finch-Fletchley. Goldstein!”

Justin, Seamus and Anthony left their seats and hurried towards the door that Madam Pomfrey held open for them and slipped into the Hospital Wing just as three other students exited. They, like everyone else who’d departed, had their heads bowed and avoided eye-contact as they scurried past in the direction of their respective houses. While everyone was keen to avoid looking at anyone else, Harry kept leaning forward in his seat, trying desperately to catch the eye of his best friend. But Ron, sat a few seats away next to Hermione, kept his stony gaze fixed straight ahead, refusing to look in Harry’s direction.

Draco couldn’t help but roll his eyes when he caught sight of the gangly redhead; slumped low in his chair with his legs outstretched and arms crossed, he managed to look by far the most aggrieved person here. Which was no small feat considering some of the spectacular secrets people had spilt earlier that evening. Harry had been quick to admit that amidst the chaos, Ron had found out about his and Draco’s relationship. And, to the surprise of absolutely no one, Ron was less than happy about it. Draco wasn’t particularly worried that Ron would tell anyone about his relationship with Harry though; he might be a hot-headed git, but based on what little he knew of the Weasleys, they were a loyal and trustworthy bunch—something that he’d always thought of as rather naive but now quietly counted his blessings for. Still, he hated seeing Harry look so miserable.

“You should go and talk to him,” he advised in a low voice. “Take advantage of the fact that he can’t speak back to you.”

But Harry shook his head. “He might not be able to speak but that doesn’t mean that he’ll listen to me.”

“Well, he isn’t going to hear anything from you if you just sit here staring at him.”

Harry worried his lip and contemplated Draco’s words. “I guess you’re right…”

“I usually am,” he quipped.

Harry drew him an incredulous look. “God, you really believe that, don’t you?”

“Well, I am!” Draco insisted. “And you know that I’m telling the truth.”

“Telling the truth and telling me what you believe are two very different things,” Harry countered.

“Let’s not argue semantics,” said Draco waving his hand dismissively. “I’ll doubtless win the argument anyway. Look, I get it—you want to talk to Weasley but you’re afraid of what he’s going to say. I understand why you’re worried but you’re going to be just as worried about doing it tomorrow, so you might as well do it now and get it over with. Now, if you don’t go over there and talk to him, I will, and I won’t be as nice as you.”

Harry huffed out a soft laugh at that playful threat. Looking more determined than afraid now, Harry began to rise out of his seat but paused as he heard someone call his name.

 _“Harry Potter!_ Harry Pot—ah, there you are…”

Draco and Harry turned and were surprised to see a spectral figure zooming towards them.

“Sir Nick,” Harry greeted the ghost as he rose to his feet. “You’re looking for me?”

Sir Nicholas came to such an abrupt halt that his head wobbled violently and he had to use his hand to steady it. “Yes, the Headmistress has asked to speak to you urgently.”

Harry frowned. “Me? Did she say why?”

“This isn’t really an appropriate place to discuss the matter,” Sir Nicholas replied evasively but not before casting a disparaging glance in Draco’s direction. Draco just rolled his eyes; he knew that he should be used to everyone being openly disdainful of him by now, but it still got on his nerves from time to time.

“I’ve to escort you to her office immediately,” Sir Nicholas continued. “So if you wouldn’t mind…”

Harry looked down at Draco. “Will you be alright on your own?”

“I’ll be fine,” Draco assured him. “I’m a big boy, Potter.”

A sly smile flitted across Harry’s face at the double entendre and he reluctantly left Draco with the Gryffindor ghost floating by his side. Draco watched as they turned the corner at the end of the corridor and vanished from sight before he let out a long sigh and slumped back in his chair. Glancing at his wristwatch, he clicked his tongue disapprovingly at the late hour and crossed his arms. How much longer was this going to take?

A few uneventful minutes passed and then Madam Pomfrey’s head reappeared, ushering out her cured patients before calling for the next group, “Goyle. Granger. Longbottom. Lovegood!”

Draco watched as Goyle lumbered towards the Matron, closely followed by Neville and Luna, who—still wearing her dragon costume—practically skipped towards the hospital wing as though she didn’t have a care in the world. Hermione squeezed Ron’s hand and gave him a reassuring smile before leaving her seat and hurrying after her friends, leaving her boyfriend alone.

 _Typical,_ thought Draco. The moment Harry leaves is when the perfect opportunity to speak to Ron on his own arises. With nothing else to occupy himself, Draco watched Ron fidget relentlessly in his seat, tapping his foot against the floor, bouncing his leg up and down, chewing his thumbnail...his body language perfectly encapsulated how everyone felt as they waited to be seen.

Seemingly at the end of his tether, Ron leapt to his feet and marched past Draco without giving him a second glance before coming to a halt at the far end of the corridor. It was quieter at that end with less people to stare at you.

 _And less people to listen in,_ Draco realised.

He glanced up and down the corridor but nobody paid him any mind, too absorbed in their own thoughts and worries. Before he could talk himself out of it, Draco got to his feet and walked swiftly to where Ron stood doodling angry faces and phallic images onto the window condensation. He only noticed Draco was beside him after he cleared his throat, and he looked none too happy to see him.

“Weasley,” Draco greeted him with a slight nod.

Ron opened his mouth to speak but, of course, no words came out, so he responded by letting out a deep, guttural growl of frustration and flipping Draco off. But Draco was not so easily dissuaded; to be honest, this wasn’t all that different to how they normally greeted each other in the Great Hall each morning.

“I know that I’m the last person in the world that you want to speak to—now or ever—but I’m taking advantage of the fact that you can’t speak and I can’t lie, and I’m going to tell you what you need to hear.”

Ron grunted again and turned his back on Draco, but he didn’t walk away. This suited Draco just fine. If anything, it would make this part much easier not having to look him in the face. He took a deep breath and began to speak.

“Harry wanted to tell you about him and me, but I asked him not to. In part because I’m afraid of what my parents will say when they find out, but the main reason I didn’t want him to tell you is because I knew that you would react badly. And I...I’m afraid that if you ask him to choose between your friendship and being with me, he’ll choose you. We both know what choice he’ll make.”

Ron kept his back turned to Draco but the tension in his shoulders eased a little. Draco sighed and forced himself to continue, “Harry loves you, Weasley. You and Granger. And you know what? I’m jealous of how much he loves you both. I always have been. So when, for some reason that will always elude me, he reciprocated my feelings, I jumped at the chance to experience just an iota of what you and Granger get from him. If I had my own way, I’d keep him all to myself and I wouldn’t share him with anybody. But Harry’s not like that. He’d give me up in a heartbeat if you asked him to, even if he didn’t want to, because he cares about what you two think more than anything else in the world.”

Draco clenched and unclenched his fists, hating just how honest he was being, but since Ron hadn’t knocked him out yet, he supposed that he must be doing something right.

“So, if you’re going to be angry at anyone, be angry at me. I for one couldn’t care less what you think about me. Just don’t push Harry away on my account. The only thing he’s guilty of is caring too much about my feelings. Take it from me, you don’t meet many people like him in this world: despite everything I’ve done, he still managed to see something good in me. I can’t see it myself, to be honest...but he makes me want to be the way he sees me.”

Ron slowly turned to face Draco then. His face was still set in a deep scowl, but his expression was more curious than angry now. It made Draco feel uncomfortable being under such scrutiny, but he had to say his piece. “Now, you’re probably wondering why I’m telling you all of this. Well, first of all, I love Harry. Oh, do close your mouth, Weasley, you look like a gargoyle gaping at me like that.” When Ron snapped his mouth shut, Draco continued. “Secondly, for the first time in my life, I actually care about someone else’s happiness as well as my own. Finally, I’m telling you all of this because even though you know that I’m telling the truth, if you were to tell anyone else what I just said, they wouldn’t believe you.”

Draco couldn’t help but feel amused at how furious Ron looked when he said that because they both knew it was true. As much as he enjoyed winding Ron up, he decided it was time to wrap things up. “So, when you’re done moping about feeling sorry for yourself, can you please talk to him? Because he really needs to talk to you.”

Draco only half turned away before summoning his courage to face Ron again. “And another thing: you’ve got Theo all wrong.”

Anger flashed across Ron’s face again but Draco pressed on. “I heard everything that you said about him—calling him a Death Eater and a scumbag—but you’re wrong about him. Theo may be a lot of things—he's stubborn, and sometimes he’s arrogant. I hate it when he picks food off of my plate and he’s _always_ late when we arrange to meet up places…”

Ron cocked an eyebrow at him and Draco shook his head. He was getting off-track. “The point is he's a lot of things but he's not a Death Eater; take it from someone who knows. He’s a good person. He’s…” Draco’s shoulders sagged and he turned to look at Theo sitting further down the corridor with Ginny by his side. “He’s loyal to a fault, and he protects the people that he loves, even when they let him down...even when they don’t deserve it.”

Draco felt a familiar deep ache in his chest return when he looked at his oldest friend. He missed him more than words could say...he wasn’t even sure if he said that part out loud to Ron or not, but at this point, he didn’t care anymore.

“The truth is, Theo's the best friend that anyone could ever hope to have. The only thing that he’s guilty of is being a good son to a father who let him and his family down.” Draco turned his attention to Ron and he frowned. “So, I don’t care if you’re Harry’s best mate, if you say anything else disparaging about Theo, I’ll knock you on your arse. Are we clear?”

Ron’s eyebrows shot up in surprise but he didn’t look particularly concerned about Draco’s threat of retribution. No matter. He’d said what he’d needed to say. Draco cleared his throat and straightened his back. “Right. That’s all I came here to say. This is embarrassing and awkward for both of us, so...I’m going to stop talking now. Oh! One more thing: your costume is absolutely ridiculous, but then you already know that.”

Draco turned to leave but only managed to take one step when Ron’s strong hand grabbed his shoulder and spun him back around. Thinking he had pushed his luck too far this time and was about to get decked in the face, Draco braced himself for a punch that never came. Instead, Ron relinquished his grip on Draco’s shoulder and stepped towards a nearby window pane and wrote a message in the condensation: _You really love him?_

He turned to look at Draco again and gave him a hard look. Draco’s mouth was suddenly very dry, but he gave a firm nod in response. “Yes, I really do.”

Ron stared at him for a few moments before walking past Draco back towards his vacant seat, but Draco’s eyes were fixed on the messaged scrawled on the window pane. He watched as the transparent letters dripped and pooled on the stone ledge, the weight of those words finally hitting him. He loved Harry. And just as he was finally able to admit it to himself, he might be about to lose him forever.

* * *

“So what does Professor McGonagall want to talk to me about?” asked Harry once he was out of earshot from everyone. Sir Nicholas hesitated a moment before replying.

“It really isn’t my place to say,” he said evasively. “Best to leave it to the Headmistress to explain.”

Despite his mounting curiosity, Harry didn’t press Sir Nicholas for more information. He supposed that he would find out what Professor McGonagall wanted with him soon enough. Neither of them spoke for the remainder of the journey—it felt as though more than enough had been said tonight already—but thankfully it was a short walk between the Hospital Wing and the Headmistress’s Tower. When they turned the corner onto the gargoyle corridor, they slowed to a halt outside Professor McGonagall’s office. Normally, a sapient gargoyle guarded the entrance, but he had been severely damaged during the Battle of Hogwarts. In its place was an empty portrait.

“I’ll just leave you here,” said Sir Nicholas, already turning to leave. “I have other messages that I need to deliver. Good luck.”

Harry frowned. “Uh, thanks.”

Good luck? Good luck for what, exactly? Sir Nicholas drifted through a stone wall and disappeared from sight, leaving Harry on his own. Harry turned back to the empty portrait and sighed; how was he supposed to get up to the office if nobody was here to let him in?

“Helloooooo,” he called, his voice echoing in the empty corridor. “Is anybody there?”

He had hoped that whoever the portrait’s occupant was had heard him, but after calling out a couple more times, nobody appeared. Harry took a step back and inspected the wall for some sort of door handle or knocker but found nothing of the sort. Maybe he had to use a password like before? Dumbledore’s had always been one of his favourite sweets. When Snape had been Headmaster, the password had been Dumbledore, which in hindsight seemed rather fitting. But what would McGonagall’s password be? Something to do with Transfiguration, maybe? She could transfigure herself into a cat, Harry mused. Maybe he had to meow at the portrait to gain entry?

“Ah, Potter. Still getting yourself into trouble, I see. What a surprise.”

Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end when he heard the familiar, cool voice speak his name. His head snapped towards the once empty portrait to find Professor Snape standing in frame, his usual sneer painted across his sallow face.

“I’m trying my best to stay out of trouble these days...sir.”

Harry tacked on the title for good measure and it earned him an amused expression from his old Potions master. _“Sir_ now, is it? So, it only took my untimely death for you to speak to me in a manner befitting my position.”

It took all of Harry’s willpower to resist rolling his eyes at the derisive comment. He may see Snape in a new light after viewing his memories in the Pensieve, but that didn’t make him any more fond of the man. “Would you rather I just called you Snape, for old times’ sake?”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Sir Nick said that Professor McGonagall wanted to see me,” said Harry, deliberately changing the subject.

“She does,” Snape confirmed but made no attempt to give Harry entry to the office.

“He said that it was urgent,” Harry pressed, keen to end this reunion with Snape as quickly as possible. Snape’s thin lips twisted into a tight smile.

“I’ll grant you entrance when the Headmistress is ready to see you,” he replied lazily, clearly delighting in the fact that he could still administer some power over Harry, even if it was from beyond the grave. Harry gritted his teeth in frustration but he gave a careless shrug.

“Fine. You’ll get to enjoy my company for a bit longer then,” he said lightly. He didn’t miss the flicker of annoyance flash across Snape’s face; perhaps annoying Harry wasn’t worth having to spend more time in his company than necessary.

“I’ll go see if she’s ready to see you now,” he drawled before disappearing out of the left side of the frame. Harry chewed on his fingernail while he waited, but too soon for his liking, Snape stepped back into the frame looking miffed. “She’ll be ready for you in a moment.”

“Alright.” An awkward silence followed as Harry avoided Snape’s penetrating gaze. In an effort to fill the silence, he asked, “So...what’s it like being a portrait?” Snape drew him an incredulous look and Harry grimaced. “Right. Stupid question…”

“Finally, something that we can both agree on,” Snape muttered.

“Alright, forget I asked,” Harry huffed.

“You do realise that I’m merely an impression of the subject? I’m not really Severus Snape.”

“I know that,” Harry replied defensively.

“Yet you still take what I think and say to heart,” Snape mused. “My recently departed counterpart was right about you: you’re a hot-headed dunderhead who wears his heart on his sleeve and speaks before he thinks.”

Harry let out a mirthless laugh. “Oh really? Well, I’m glad to see that you’re still the same foul git you’ve always been, _sir.”_ An amused smirk spread across Snape’s face and Harry’s eyes narrowed. “You just enjoy winding me up, don’t you?”

“I’m afforded few pleasures these days now that my counterpart has shuffled off of this mortal coil,” he admitted. Harry shook his head in disbelief.

“Well, if it’s any consolation, you were very good at getting a rise out of me.”

Snape raised his eyebrows in surprise. “That almost sounds like a compliment.”

“It would to you, wouldn’t it?” Harry grumbled. “Mind you, I wasn’t too bad at winding you up, either.”

Snape let out a weary sigh. “So I’ve been told: you were a consistent troublemaker who believed that the rules did not apply to him. It seems that little has changed.”

“I told you, I try my best to stay out of trouble these days,” Harry reminded him but Snape huffed out a derisive laugh.

“Are you sure about that?”

Confused by that cryptic reply, Harry opened his mouth to ask what the hell he was implying, but quickly closed it as, without warning, Snape’s head dipped out of the frame for a few seconds. When he reappeared a few moments later, any amusement that had been written across his face was now gone. “The Headmistress will see you now.”

Without further explanation, Snape’s portrait swung open to reveal the revolving staircase, moving smoothly upwards like an escalator. Feeling uneasy, Harry stepped onto it. He heard the portrait groan as it swung shut again behind him, closing the passageway to the corridor. As he rose upwards in circles, higher and higher, a bright light appeared behind him and he turned his head just in time to see a small white bird made of light zoom past. The Patronus flew over his head and straight through the gleaming oak door that was slowly coming into view. When he stepped onto the landing and approached the door, he could hear Madam Pomfrey’s muffled voice from inside the office as he knocked on the door. A moment later it creaked open and Harry was surprised to come face to face with a gloomy-looking Liv Tonks.

“Hello, Harry,” she sighed. “I suppose you better come in.”

Liv ushered Harry into the office, and he was surprised to see there was a group of people waiting within: as expected, Professor McGonagall was sitting at her desk, while Professors Switch, Flitwick and Sprout stood behind her desk to her left and right, their expressions grave. Despite feeling as though the tension in the room could be cut with a knife, that feeling was negated somewhat by the fact that everyone was still wearing their Halloween costumes: it would be difficult to take anything Professor Flitwick said seriously while he wore his Oompa Loompa outfit.

None of the professors looked in Harry’s direction as he approached; instead, they were listening intently to the Patronus (a nightingale, Harry realised), which stood on the Headmistress’s desk as it spoke in Madam Pomfrey’s booming, authoritative voice.

“Based on the accounts of several patients, it is my belief that a combination of alcohol—Ogden’s Old Firewhisky, if I’m not mistaken—a poorly brewed Babbling Potion and a potent dose of Veritaserum was added to the punch bowl in the Great Hall...”

As Madam Pomfrey explained the situation in more detail, Liv led Harry over to the row of four seats lined up in front of the Headmistress’s desk, two of which were occupied by younger students that he recognised by sight but he didn’t know their names. Harry took one of the unoccupied seats and stole a glance at the other students; the first boy, dressed as a jester, shook so much that the bells on his hat jingled, while the other—older and lankier with cropped black hair—sat with his head bowed clutching a Michael Myers mask in his lap.

“...It appears that the punch was spiked with Truth Serum first,” Madam Pomfrey’s Patronus continued. “Then the Babbling Potion, and finally, the alcohol. It will take some time to treat everyone affected, but I will write up my full report on the matter and bring it to you once I have seen all of my patients.”

A stony silence followed as the bright light of the nightingale quickly faded and disappeared in a wisp of smoke. Professor Sprout was the first to speak up.

“Well, that would explain why not everyone was affected,” she mused. “I didn’t have anything to drink.”

“Me neither,” Liv confirmed.

Professor Switch nodded in agreement. “It also explains how varied people’s symptoms are. There are a lot of factors to consider: an individual's body mass, their degree of tolerance, the rate of digestion, the time they drank the punch…”

“What do you two have to say for yourselves?” Professor McGonagall cut in, turning her attention to the two students on Harry’s right. Neither boy seemed to have the courage to speak up, and Harry couldn’t blame them; he’d never seen his former Head of House look so angry.

“I only added the Firewhisky,” the dark-haired boy suddenly blurted out. “I wouldn’t have drunk any if I knew there was Veritaserum in it! That would’ve been stupid.”

“Adding spirits to the punch was hardly clever of you, was it Abberley?” Flitwick countered. “You’ve done Ravenclaw a great disservice this evening. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

Abberley bowed his head again and mumbled, “Yes, Professor. Sorry.”

Professor McGonagall’s sharp eyes flitted towards the boy in the jester hat and he seemed to wither under her furious gaze. “And you, McKinley? Was it you who added the Veritaserum to the punch?”

McKinley shook his head vigorously, causing the bells on his hat to jingle even louder. “N-no, Professor! I swear it wasn’t me!”

“So, you admit that you added the Babbling Potion?”

McKinley hesitated a moment before nodding. “Yes.”

“What on earth possessed you to do that?” Professor Sprout demanded. McKinley’s ears turned red and he shrugged.

“I thought that it’d be funny,” he replied weakly.

A collective groan rumbled through the office and Professor Sprout massaged her temples in frustration. Harry sat silently, keeping himself as small and invisible as possible, as the boys' Heads of House decided their punishment: detention until Christmas and one hundred points deducted each from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Professor McGonagall gave them a few harsh parting words about their reckless behaviour before sending them on their way. Once the boys had exited with Professors Sprout and Flitwick in their wake, Professor McGonagall turned in her tartan wingback armchair to speak to Professor Snape, who had returned to his portrait above her desk.

“Have they found him yet?” she asked.

“He hasn’t been located anywhere on the school grounds, therefore, Professor Jones believes that he is currently hiding in the Room of Requirement,” Snape explained without elaborating who they were talking about. “She is heading there now.”

Harry knew better than to ask who they were looking for, but then again, he had a far more pressing question on his mind. “Excuse me, Professor McGonagall. You asked to see me?”

Professor McGonagall turned her steely gaze upon Harry and he felt a chill run up his spine. Whatever he was here for, clearly it wasn’t a social call. “Mr Potter, have you received treatment from Madam Pomfrey yet?”

Harry shook his head. “No Professor, I don’t need it. I didn’t drink any of the punch.”

“I saw you and Mr Malfoy lingering by the punchbowl during the festivities. Why didn’t you pour any for yourself?” she asked.

“I did. Didn’t I?” Harry screwed up his face trying to remember. “At least I thought I had. I guess I just wasn’t thirsty.”

A flash of what looked like disappointment streaked across Professor McGonagall’s face before she schooled her expression into a stern mask. “Mr Potter, do you know why I asked to see you?”

Harry felt a swell of irritation rise up inside of him then: she was the one who had asked to see him, so why was she playing games with him? He managed to keep his voice even when he replied, “No, Professor.”

“Would you like to hazard a guess?” Snape sneered.

Harry frowned. “Well, I’m assuming it has something to do with what happened tonight, but I don’t know what it’s got to do with me.”

Professor McGonagall considered Harry in silent consideration for a few moments before speaking again. “Three years ago, you co-founded and led an organisation called Dumbledore’s Army. Correct?”

Harry’s eyes flitted up towards Dumbledore’s portrait, but it was empty. He wondered if Professor McGonagall had purposefully sent him out of the room. “Uh...yeah, I did.”

“An organisation that was disbanded and then re-established during the war by Ginny Weasley and Neville Longbottom?”

“Yes…” he replied slowly. “Sorry, what’s that got to do with what happened tonight?”

“As I recall, membership to the organisation was rather exclusive.”

“I believe you mean exclusionary,” Snape chipped in. “Students of Slytherin House were not permitted to join the organisation.”

“That’s not true,” Harry protested and Professor McGonagall raised a thin eyebrow at him before he relented, “Okay, so we didn’t have any Slytherin students in the group. But they weren’t exactly the most trustworthy bunch at the time, were they?”

As soon as the words had left his mouth he felt awful and cast a guilty glance at Liv who gave him a small but reassuring smile. To her credit, she didn’t look upset at what he’d said; she’d probably heard far worse from others.

“I also recall the organisation was famed for its disruption of authority,” Professor McGonagall continued. “All manner of disruptive behaviour broke out: dungbombs were released on a regular basis, rogue Nifflers caused significant damage to school property, there were also enchanted fireworks, if I remember rightly…”

“Slytherin students being the primary target of these attacks,” Snape noted.

Harry shook his head in disbelief at what he was hearing. They were taking the reality of the situation and twisting it into something unrecognisable.

“That’s not what it was like! None of that would have been necessary if Umbridge hadn’t been here. Have you forgot all of the things that she did? She kicked out Professor Dumbledore, _tortured students_ —” Harry angrily brandished his left hand which still bore the thin white scars from Umbridge’s Blood Quill “—prevented us from learning defensive magic. That’s why Dumbledore’s Army was started in the first place! And as for targeting Slytherins, you just had to take a look at the Inquisitorial Squad—full of Slytherins, it was. If anything, they were targeting us!”

“So, you admit that you have an ongoing grievance with Slytherin House?” asked Professor McGonagall.

“I...no.” Harry shrunk back in his seat. “Not now, I don’t.”

“Really?” asked Snape making no effort to hide the sarcasm in his voice. “I find that very hard to believe.”

“Things have changed,” Harry argued.

“Evidently not as Slytherin students continue to be the primary target of malicious pranks,” Professor McGonagall countered.

“What’s that got to do with me?” asked Harry.

“There have been rumours of a group in the school who are responsible for all of the unruly behaviour this year, and a lot of what they’re doing bears striking similarities to the group you established in your fifth year.” Professor McGonagall leant forward slightly in her chair. “Harry, I want you to answer me truthfully: have you started up Dumbledore’s Army again?”

Harry couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing, but he shook his head. “No.”

“You haven’t formed a resistance group in any shape or form?”

“No,” he replied more firmly.

Suddenly, there was a loud rap at the door. Professor McGonagall kept her gaze fixed on Harry as she called, “Enter!”

The door creaked open and when Harry turned in his seat to see who it was, he was shocked to see Hestia Jones enter with Dennis Creevey by her side. What the hell was going on?

“Found him in the Room of Requirement, as expected,” said Hestia, still in her Aragorn costume. She escorted Dennis towards one of the empty chairs and made him sit in it. “He thought that by instructing the room from barring entry to Slytherins that he wouldn’t get caught. Unlucky for you that I’m a fellow Gryffindor, eh?”

Dennis, dressed head to toe in black, threw her a mutinous look but said nothing. Harry hadn’t interacted much with Dennis since the school year had started, but up close he was shocked to see how poorly he looked. He had always been small and scrawny for his age, but even under the heavy black cloak, it was obvious that he had lost a lot of weight. His complexion was pale as though he hadn’t seen sunlight for months, which made the purple shadows under his eyes even more pronounced. Despite his sickly appearance, his expression was one of determination and defiance.

“Mr Creevey, several students have reported seeing someone in a Guy Fawkes mask pouring a clear liquid into the punch bowl during festivities,” said Professor McGonagall. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

Professor McGonagall waited patiently, giving Dennis plenty of time to respond, but he just stared back at her and refused to speak. Professor McGonagall sighed and said, “Turn out your pockets, please.”

Dennis hesitated a few moments before getting to his feet and emptying the contents of his pockets onto the Headmistress's desk: he tossed a plastic Guy Fawkes mask, a silver hip flask—the same one Harry had seen Dennis use earlier in the evening—his wand, a folded piece of parchment, and a polaroid onto the table before slumping back into his seat. He maintained his defiant look as Professor McGonagall picked up the mask and turned it over in her hand while Hestia unscrewed the hip flask’s metal lid and sniffed the contents.

“You’re not going to be able to identify it by its smell or colour,” Snape reminded her. “If brewed properly, Veritaserum is both colourless and odourless.”

“So how are we meant to know what it is?” she asked.

“You could always drink some,” he suggested.

“Very funny,” Hestia mumbled, screwing the cap shut again. “I’ll get Slughorn to take a look at it once he’s been treated.”

Dennis visibly tensed when Professor McGonagall reached out and picked up the folded piece of parchment. When she had finished unfolding it, she stilled as her eyes darted across the page. After a moment, she slid the parchment towards the two boys. Dennis didn’t bother to look at it, but Harry sat forward, keen for any explanation as to what he was doing here and how the night’s events were supposed to involve him. When he read the title on the top of the page, Harry’s mouth fell open.

“What...” he faltered, looking between Professor McGonagall and Dennis. “What is this?”

“It appears to be a list of members recruited to a group known as Potter’s Army,” Professor McGonagall answered coolly.

Harry snatched up the parchment in disbelief. It looked very similar to the enchanted parchment Hermione had made members of Dumbledore’s Army sign when they had joined the former duelling club, only the header had POTTER’S ARMY scrawled across the top in scratchy capital letters. The list of names was largely unknown to him, but a couple did catch his attention: Jack Sloper, a fellow Gryffindor and former Quidditch teammate of his, and Susan Bones, a Hufflepuff student in his year, were listed as members. Harry looked at Professor McGonagall and he shook his head.

“I...I don’t know _what_ this is,” he stammered.

“If that is true, then it is a rather curious name for the group.”

“Harry’s not in the group,” said Dennis suddenly. “He’s got nothing to do with any of this.”

Both Harry and Professor McGonagall’s heads snapped towards him then. “If that is the case, then why is the group named after him?”

“Believe me, that wasn’t my choice,” Dennis grumbled, rolling his eyes. _“I_ wanted to stick with Dumbledore’s Army, but everyone else in this school hero-worships Potter like he’s the second coming of Christ. Personally, I think it’s ridiculous, but the majority rule and all that…”

“Hold on…” Harry’s eyes narrowed as he read the parchment again. “Potter’s Army...P.A. You’re the ones who wrecked Myrtle’s bathroom!”

“Yes, Potter, we’ve gathered as much already,” Snape cut in impatiently. “Do try to keep up.”

“Quiet, Severus,” Professor McGonagall snapped. “So you admit that you’re the one who spiked the punch bowl with Veritaserum.”

“Yes,” Dennis confirmed unabashedly.

“Where did you get the Veritaserum from?”

“Potions class,” he explained. “Professor Slughorn’s brewing it with the sixth years. I just stole some when he wasn’t looking.”

“You do realise that Veritaserum is a strictly controlled substance,” said Snape. “You could lose your wand for this.”

“I know.” Dennis gave a careless shrug. “As far as I was concerned, it was worth the risk of getting caught.”

“To what end?” asked Professor McGonagall.

“To teach everyone a lesson,” he explained. “Everyone in this school is trying to convince themselves that everything is fine. I just proved that it isn’t.”

Professor Switch, Liv and Hestia shared worried glances with one another but Professor McGonagall’s eyes never wavered from Dennis. “You’re also responsible for damaging the girls’ bathroom on the second floor.” Dennis nodded. “And for setting off those fireworks in the Great Hall this afternoon?”

Dennis nodded again. “For the Canary Creams and Bubotuber Pus in the post, the biting teacups and punching telescopes...all of it. It was me. It was all of us.”

“Why?” she implored. “Why would you do any of this?”

Dennis drew her an incredulous look. “The fact that you even need to ask that is part of the problem!”

The office erupted into cries of condemnation as the portraits, no longer feigning slumber, admonished Dennis for his disrespectful tone, then quickly fell silent again as Professor McGonagall raised her hand.

“Let him speak,” she instructed. “I’m willing to hear his side of the story.”

Harry was keen for an explanation as much as the rest of them, although it was taking all of his effort to stop himself throwing a hex in Dennis’s defiant face. All the pain and fear that he and his friends had caused in the last few weeks—Merlin, the irreparable damage that had been done tonight—how could there be a justification for any of it?

“You lot sit here in your ivory tower, telling us that we ought to pull ourselves up by our bootstraps and get on with things,” Dennis spat. “That’s be easy for you to say, especially when you haven’t lost anything. People lost their homes. Their entire families. The right to do magic. My brother _died_. Murdered. In this school, by god only knows who, and his only crime was being Muggle-born.”

Dennis lurched forward, snatched the polaroid from the desk and turned it over. Harry felt his stomach clench when he saw that it was a picture of Colin and Dennis, smiling and waving in their school uniforms. Harry knew all too well that Colin had a passion for photography, and it appeared that he had quite the talent for it, too. The picture was beautiful in its simplicity, a perfect moment in time captured of the two brothers, frozen forever, blissfully unaware of the tragedy that would befall them. Dennis stared at the photograph in his lap, his face screwed up in pain and anger.

“When the war started, Colin and I couldn’t come back to school. Then we got the letter from the Muggle-Born Registration Commission. We’d heard what had happened to other folk who’d gone to the Ministry...so we went into hiding. For _months_. Travelling up and down the country, scared to even use magic in case the Snatchers found us. But the whole time, Colin believed that Harry Potter would save the day. He never wavered in his belief, not for one second.”

Dennis clenched his fists in his lap, scrunching up the photograph. “Then he gets a message from Dumbledore’s Army: Harry Potter’s returned to Hogwarts and it was time to make a last stand against Voldemort. Colin came back here to fight.” Dennis looked up at Harry then, his red eyes streaming with tears. “He came back for _you_. He came back here and he…”

Dennis choked on his words and fell silent, but only for a moment before he forced himself to continue. “Colin. Lavender. Professor Lupin. And fifty others that nobody ever cares to think about died that night. And what thanks do we give them for their sacrifice? We let Death Eaters like Draco Malfoy come back here and we pretend like nothing happened!”

Dennis’s voice had risen into a crescendo until he bellowed the last few words at Professor McGonagall. Although her expression remained impassive, the fiery anger in her eyes had extinguished. They looked as hollow as Harry felt.

“So, Potter’s Army was in response to my permitting all students to return to Hogwarts, regardless of their blood status or background,” she said softly.

“That’s a clever way of saying you’ll turn a blind eye to letting Death Eaters come back here to receive an education,” Dennis argued. “You should have kept the Slytherins locked up in the dungeon and thrown away the key.”

“Not all Slytherins are Death Eaters, Dennis,” Professor McGonagall reminded him gently.

“But all Death Eaters are Slytherins,” he sneered.

“That’s not true,” Harry cut in. Dennis drew him a furious look but he pressed on. “Peter Pettigrew was a Gryffindor and he was one of the worst Death Eaters out there. Snape— _Professor_ Snape—was a Slytherin and a Death Eater, but ultimately, he was on our side. And as for Draco Malfoy...his situation was a little more complicated than most people think.”

“What’s your point?” Dennis asked.

“My point is that none of this is black and white,” Harry argued. “People don’t fit into neat little categories of good and bad, right or wrong. Sometimes, people do the wrong things for the right reasons—like breaking someone out of jail when you know that they’re innocent, or becoming a Death Eater because you and your family’s lives are at risk. And sometimes, people do the right thing for all the right reasons and they die anyway, because this is real life, and real life isn’t some fairytale where everyone gets their happy ending.

“What happened to Colin isn’t fair,” Harry continued quietly. “And I know what it feels like—”

“You don’t know!” Dennis shouted. “I had to go home and explain to my dad that Colin had been killed. _How could you have any idea what that was like?”_

“I know what it’s like to see the people you love die,” Harry pressed on. “I know how it feels to want to hurt those who’ve hurt me and the people that I love most. To be so angry at everyone for being so stupid and blind to what’s in front of their faces that you want to scream at the top of your lungs and lash out. And I know the guilt that eats away at you when you couldn’t protect your loved ones—that you got to live when they didn’t. But after all of that, after everything you’ve done, can you honestly tell me that you feel any better for doing it?”

Dennis scowled at Harry but said nothing, and his silence spoke volumes. Although Harry had never lost a sibling, he knew the pain and guilt of loss better than most. He carried it with him every day; the grief was bad enough. But the guilt...that was far worse than anything else.

“We all lost something during the war,” said Professor McGonagall solemnly. “Some more than others. But while I can sympathise with your situation, that does not give you and your friends licence to terrorise students, however you try to justify your actions.”

Dennis bowed his head and avoided looking at the Headmistress. It seemed that all of the fight had gone out of him. Harry thought that he looked so exhausted that if the world swallowed him whole, he wouldn’t even have the strength to fight back. If anything, he’d welcome it.

“So, just to be clear, Mr Potter had no knowledge or involvement whatsoever in your group’s activities?” asked Professor McGonagall.

Dennis shook his head and mumbled, “No.”

Professor McGonagall looked somewhat relieved by this and sat back in her chair. “Very well. Professor Tonks, since Professor Slughorn is currently unfit to perform his duties, I am temporarily appointing you to Head of Slytherin House.”

Liv’s eyes widened in surprise. “Really? Th-thank you, Headmistress. I’ll do my best.”

“And since Slytherins were the primary target of Mr Creevey and his group, it is only right that you should have some input with regards to their punishment.”

Liv grimaced at that. “Oh. Right…”

Professor McGonagall turned back to Harry and said, “Mr Potter, thank you for your time. You may now return to your dormitory.”

Harry made to move out of his chair but he paused. “Professor, what’s going to happen to Dennis and the others?”

“That is none of your concern,” she replied evenly. “You were dismissed, Mr Potter. Please, be on your way.”

Harry cast a worried glance at Dennis, who kept his head bowed and eyes fixed on the scrunched up photograph in his fist. “Okay, but I just have to say one thing…”

“Here we go,” Snape sighed.

Ignoring Snape’s interruption, Harry continued. “All I wanted to say was that since you were willing to give Draco another chance, I think Dennis should be afforded the same courtesy. Christ, the amount of times _I_ should have been kicked out of school for misbehaviour…”

“Don’t remind us,” Snape muttered.

“...But I was always given another chance,” Harry continued. “Like I said before: sometimes people do the right thing for the wrong reasons. Or at least, they _think_ they’re doing the right thing. I mean, we all make mistakes from time to time, don’t we? Sometimes they’re pretty big, but I don’t think we should be forced to have them hanging over our heads for the rest of our lives.”

“Is that everything?” asked Professor McGonagall.

“Uh...yeah. That’s all I had to say,” Harry replied lamely.

“Very well. Thank you for sharing your thoughts with us on the matter. You are now excused.”

Knowing he had more than overstayed his welcome now, Harry got to his feet and headed for the exit, wondering if he’d see Dennis at the Gryffindor breakfast table in the morning, or if this was the last time he’d ever see him again on school premises.

“Professor…” Liv said slowly as Harry slammed the oak door shut behind him. “I may have an idea with regards to Mr Creevey’s punishment…”


End file.
